Closet Key
by Reigen Doki
Summary: AU. In a universe where Vulcan is pre-warp and Jim is still prone to causing trouble, what trouble can a little crash landing cause? How did Jim end up in a ship alone? And what about Spock? Do these two hold the key to each others troubles? Or can they only make things worse? There is some foul language in this story, just so you know.
1. Chapter 1

**I so don't own Star Trek.**

**Some facts about this: Definitely AU, Not going above a T rating, Not sure if this should be a relationship fic or not, Kirk and Spock centric either way. So…yeah, that third one might have something to do with what you all want.**

**Oh yeah, and there's a fair deal of cursing. Because I have an awful mouth on me when I write...**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

"Get the fuck out of there you god damn brat!" Frank's voice was loud and terrifying as his fist pounded on the door.

Ten year old Jim whimpered, curling up tighter on himself in the corner of the locked closet. He was half buried under an old jacket of his dad's. A musty, warm scent still clung to it, wrapping him in the only embrace his father could provide. Jim wanted. Wanted out of there. Wanted to meet the man who provided half of his DNA. Wanted adventure. Wanted so much more that it ached. Wanted something so different. Jim wanted.

"You have to come out of there eventually." Frank warned. "Crawl out before you die or you'll stink up the whole house. I'll fucking kill you when I see your god damn face."

"I'm never coming out!" Jim called back. "You'll have to live with my rotting corpse! Asshole! Hypocrite! Dickweed!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Frank slammed his hand into the door.

Jim fell quiet, not because of the order, but because he had nothing else to say to the man. That, judging by the sound of pounding fists on the door only angered him more. Jim snuggled tighter in the jacket, wondering if any of the cologne obviously lingering on it was in the hidden box in the attic. If he had to look like his father, he could really ramp up the hate his family felt for him by _smelling_ like him too.

… .. . .. …

"You will maintain eye contact during our discussion." Sarek spoke evenly, voice hot with indifference.

Eleven year old Spock pulled his eyes from the floor, flittering them up with few pauses like climbing something of a mountain. His hands ached with the effort to keep them open. There was the cool kiss of the wind blowing through the door, caressing him. Spock waited. Waited for the scolding again. Waited for the harsh looks. For the hate that supposedly didn't exist. The resentment. Waited obediently. Because he didn't know anything else.

"Your behavior was unacceptable." Sarek informed him. "You must exercise control over your emotions. You did not exhibit the proper decorum for a Vulcan."

"I am not Vulcan." Spock spoke in desperation. "You made me that way. You and my mother. You. I am not the same as you. I can not be the same as you."

"Cease such illogical protests." Sarek sounded more disinterested than before.

Spock fell silent, obediently, because he was not trained to respond to the man. Based on his father's abrupt departure, he could no longer stomach the sight of his child. Spock flicked his eyes back down to the floor, wondering why he was not allowed the faults of other Vulcans. He straightened up, banishing the small, embarrassed child, vowing to be as Vulcan as he was forced to look.

… .. . .. …

"That's right! Run. Run away you little fucker!"

Jim didn't look back, outrunning the voice behind him. His legs weren't small anymore and could carry him anywhere he wanted to go. He felt the cool sting of the hail on his face, whipped around by the fury of the wind. His bare arms were too cold to register the pelts, little damp spots spontaneously appearing on his shirt and jeans. His hair whipped around his head as best it could at the short length he kept it, eyes watering from the cold and nose running faster than he was.

He could go for the quarry, finally end it, finally be free of the devil on his shoulder, the monkey on his back, the quicksand around his thighs. He could be free. It was a far distance to run, distorted, confusing. All at once it took seconds and hours. He had to be running faster than the car, had to, stalks of wheat and hail blinding him as it struck his stinging eyes. It was the pain, causing tears to run down his face, the irritation.

Jim stuttered to a stop, standing on the edge of something greater than himself. His eyes were bright, clearer than they had ever been. Just one step, between him and the end of it all. The beginning. One step, and everything he wanted would be his. One step and there would be no turning back. He never even considered turning back, stepping off the edge and into the great unknown. And he fell.

… .. . .. …

On a clear night, Spock could see the heated glow of Shi'Kahr from his window. Shi'Kahr, where his father was. Where he was not allowed to be for his perceived safety. He was flawed, an imperfect construct. Dangerous, if the others were to be believed. Dangerous because he was not one of them, not like them, not well enough in control of his own emotions to restrain unbecoming behavior as he should. So he was restrained to the country house for his studies, perhaps forever, if he could not prove he was now in control.

He set aside his most recent work from the Vulcan Science Academy. He'd always wondered why they would bother to name it such, as though any other species could form such an academy on the planet. There were no other sentient creatures on Vulcan and if other such creatures existed in the universe, they had yet to make themselves known.

The night was crisp, a cool, soothing wind billowing in through the open door. Spock stepped out onto the balcony, relishing the cold night. Another flaw of his design, a flaw of his designer. He could stand the heat, more than his contemporaries through sheer determination, but the embrace of the cold was something he sought out. It was illogical, but something in the cooled temperatures threaded through him, creating a sense of welcome. It was flawed to prefer any temperature, so long as you were capable of surviving it. And yet he preferred the cool air, the whisper of a storm, and the sweet humidity of the rain.

There was a loud crack, a thundering sound reminiscent of a lightning strike and a flash of heat. Spock's eyes flew open wide as he watched a comet streak through the sky, falling without losing mass, striking in the desert with a cloud of dust as a meteor.

Spock's heart raced. Illogical. It was illogical that such a thing could happen.

He toed on his shoes in seconds as he grabbed the keys to his car. It was highly efficient, clean and useful. Which was why it was illogical to trade it in for a newer model, and not a strange attachment. It was just a five minute ride at top speed, something that both horrified him and intrigued.

The crater he found was smaller than he would have thought. Perhaps the debris were not as large as they had appeared? In fact, it appeared the majority of the displacement was a result of it landing in a large sand dune. He crept up the side, heart thundering and eyes wide. It was the opportunity of a life time. He should have alerted someone at the science academy, given they were not already aware of its existence and preparing a team to investigate.

He crested the dune crater, and felt his heart freeze, missing several beats more than was healthy. Damaged as it was, there was no mistaking what lay in the center. He felt a giddy wave of emotion bubble up in him even as he set his face firmly and slid down the inside. It occurred to him, briefly, that it may be too hot to touch, or giving off dangerous radiation, but his deemed it a necessary risk.

To think, he would be the first Vulcan to touch an alien space ship.

Or…was it? It was possible, though improbable, that the science academy had been secretly testing a ship of their own design. If it was manned, the individual may need medical assistance. As Spock got closer, a symbol on the side caught his eyes. It was unlike anything he had seen before, pointed like an arrowhead. And there were words accompanying it, like no language on Vulcan. Alien.

He searched the outside of the ship, looking for any identifying manner of entering it. It was vaguely egg shaped, with strange engines on what he presumed was the sides. Gently, he made his way to what had to be the front. It was the only logical configuration, though there was no windshield or indicating factor. It was highly probably the script on the side could be written in any direction.

While he stood surveying it, deciding what would be the best method of approach, a soft, pneumatic hiss caught in his ears. Spock's breath caught in his throat as he watched the pod open, a hatch lifting on what could only be the top. He eased closer, peering through the darkness to see what was inside. There was a soft groan and Spock scuttled back, eyes wide.

When another, louder grunt of pain came from the cockpit, Spock's curiosity won out over the hypothetical fear Vulcans did not feel. He eased forward, muscles coiled and ready for an attack even as he gripped the edge of the cockpit and heaved himself up, marveling momentarily at the lack of heat. The inside was a mass of sparking wires and what appeared to have once been a single seat spaceship.

What captivated him, however, was the figure laying motionless in the pilot's seat. Two arms and legs appearing to be in a similar construction as his own. A head upon the shoulders, torso of comparable length and apparent size. The figure was swathed in a golden-yellow suit of some kind, form fitting and accompanied with a helmet. The visor of said helmet was darkened from the outside, obscuring the individual's face.

Spock was nearly confident this figure was a Vulcan, because the chances of an alien having a similar body structure as his own species were monumentally small. He wormed farther into the cockpit, chest braced across the strangely cool metal and legs braced against the outside of the hull. The figure made a soft groaning sound, trying to move its head. Male, by Spock's calculation, if the general body shape and deep vocal tone was indeed Vulcan or analogous.

Carefully, he reached out, lifting some of the debris from the…man's legs. The man jerked sharply, helmet swirling around to view him sluggishly. Spock froze, holding his breath as he stared at the alien reflection of himself on the man's helmet. Spock glanced down at the panel he had moved and his eyes widened. A dark, red liquid was flowing from a tear in the thick, armor like fabric.

Spock's first thought was to wonder how much blunt damage had incurred before the sturdy material finally sheared. His second though was to wonder at the strong iron scent now flooding his nostrils. His thoughts immediately were diverted by the high probability that the red liquid he was viewing was the blood of the creature now struggling to free itself from the safety harness strapping it in.

Spock jerked back in alarm, forgetting that he was being supported only by his front half being in the cockpit, and fell from the ship, landing in the sand with a puff of dirt. There was a strange barking sound coming from the cockpit, from the _alien_, followed by what was unmistakably a cough.

Spock returned to his feet, realizing the alien, whatever it was, was damaged and in need of medical attention. He scrambled back up, not bothering to dust himself off, and moved himself into a better position, bracing one foot in the cramped cockpit and one on the smooth surface of the hull. The figure had fallen silent again, holding its helmeted head in its hands.

Spock furrowed his brow minutely, scanning the damage to begin a plan of attack, so to speak. Seeing that the safety harness hampered the alien's upper body movement, it would be wisest to remove it first. He found it very difficult to conceive doing so, still not sure it was safe. There was no other way to properly free it, however, and it could die before he provided it medical attention if he did not. Without any of the hesitation he was feeling, Spock took the clasp the alien had been attempting to free before and broke it cleanly.

The alien glanced up at him sharply, the tilt of its helmet indicating a flick of its visual sensory organs between the clasp and Spock. Spock ignored it, beginning to methodically clear debris from its legs. The creature let out a baleful moan as Spock lifted one particularly large piece of paneling. Spock glanced over, and watched at the creature prodded at its instrument panel, apparently more interested in the damage to its ship than its own wounds.

Spock hesitated only a second before returning his attention to the mess. The creature would be free soon. If necessary, he could incapacitate it. He jumped, nearly slipping from the ship again as the cool material of the spacesuit ghosted across his ear. The alien raised its hands in front of itself, exposing that its hands were empty and well away from him. After a moment of careful watching, Spock placed his hands on the last of the debris, glancing again at the figure to ensure its hands were still where he could see them.

The bent metal peeled back with an ungodly groan and Spock's arms shook with the force it took to bend the strong material. The alien grunted again and pulled its legs up towards itself, one gloved hand coming down to press to the still bleeding cut. There was a fair amount of it, and if the creature required similar amounts of blood based upon its size as a Vulcan, it was most likely feeling just the beginnings of coldness from the loss setting in.

Spock vacated the cockpit, feet sliding a bit as he tried to find purchase on the slick nose. He knelt down, fingers ghosting against the smooth surface. It was exquisite under his fingers, like nothing he had touched before. The alien froze from where it was attempting to maneuver itself into a standing position to watch him. Spock felt his ear tips darken and stood, very nearly falling but managing to appear quite confident.

He leapt down into the soft sand, once again accompanied with a soft billow of dust. The figure jerked over the edge of the cockpit, staring down at him. Spock straightened himself up, ignoring the discomfort of being thoroughly coated in dirt. When the figure made no move to follow, Spock stepped closer, offering his assistance wordlessly.

Now the alien obviously hesitated, glancing behind it at its wrecked ship before swinging its uninjured leg over the side. It groped about with its foot for a moment before its foot seemed to sink into the otherwise hard hull. Spock watched in amazement as footholds appeared down the side of the ship. It proved a pointless endeavor, as the alien couldn't bear its weight on its injured leg and tumbled back. Spock caught it easily, marveling at how light it was.

The figure held very still before a loud, pained sound issued from it. Spock eyed the freely bleeding wound a moment, already starting to collect dust and muddy up the wound. His heart was racing, if nothing else at the fact he was irrefutable touching an alien. Calmly, like he were not experiencing the most monumental thing in his life, somehow withholding the trembling that threatened to overtake his hands, he lifted the alien bodily into his arms and started up the inside of the crater.

The creature flailed a moment, making a loud, elaborate sound before falling silent, arms folded over its chest. It was difficult, climbing the sand dune with something in his arms, but he made it to the crest, and immediately felt the alien perk up in his arms, looking around itself slowly.

The desert was wide around them, the lights of Shi'Kahr still glowing faintly in the distance, and the lights of his isolated home far closer. Spock braced himself, tightening his grip on the alien ever so slightly, and slid down the dune. The alien in his arms made a strange, strangled breathing sound, before breaking out into the same strange barking sounds it had made before.

Spock leaned back from it in surprise, not sure if it was attempting to communicate, or what the significance of the sound was. It fell silent as they started towards the car. Spock lowered it to the ground, bracing it on the car as he pulled open the door.

It looked between the car and the crater containing its ship and rapidly shook its head as though it were trying to dislodge something, attempting to back away. Spock felt a measure of annoyance and stepped closer, aware the alien would fall if it attempted to return to its ship. It backed away faster, both hands in front of it waving almost violently as it continued to toss its head about.

Spock growled in annoyance. "You are in need of medical treatment."

The figure froze completely, before finally cocking its head to the side. It made a short, confused sound, but continued to back away as Spock approached. It made a small vertical wave motion with its hands and Spock stopped. It knelt, shakily as it was obviously too damaged for such a thing. Spock made to approach again and it repeated the motion with one hand. Spock stopped again and it bobbed its head up and down twice.

Slowly, it brought its hand down to scratch something into the surrounding sand. Spock peered at it from a distance, eyeing the crudely done image in confusion. The alien pointed to its drawing and then back at the dune, making a string of strange and incomprehensible sounds. Most likely it was speaking to him in its native language. It seemed to be telling him, if he understood the purpose of the gestures and drawings accurately, that it wanted something, whatever it drew, out of the ship.

Spock peered at the alien device drawn in the sand and then the dune, before glancing at the injured alien. It would be completely incapable of retrieving its device. With a deep breath, Spock strode past it, watching it scramble out of his way, and then follow tentatively.

He didn't even know where to begin searching the ship for this device. If it was so critical, it would have to be easy to access. He ran his hand over the smooth paneling inside the cockpit, watching parts try to light up and move under his palm. Fascinating. A small square lit up when he pressed his palm to it and opened approximately 1.439 inches. He pulled it open farther, listening to the metal groan. There was an array of small devices.

Spock felt his breath catch in his throat as a wave of giddiness crashed over him and he pulled all of them out, carefully stacking them in his arms. He would very much like to take a closer look at them, but later, in the safety of his home. If the science academy were to send someone out to investigate the ship, he did not want to be found with it after having not reported the crash.

He returned quickly to the other side of the dune, in time to see the alien had taken a seat next to his car and was once again dragging its fingers through the sand. It glanced up when he started to approach, arms full of the alien devices, and immediately began to make the loud, barking noise. It was oddly not as disturbing, the longer he heard it.

He carefully placed the devices in his passenger seat, and the alien stood itself up, bracing on his car to look at what he brought back. It flicked through a few pieces before picking one up, a small, hand held device, larger than a pen, and more blocky, but vaguely similar in how it held it. It set the device in Spock's hand, wagging its finger at him perplexingly.

Spock stared at it, almost afraid to breath for fear of setting it off. He glanced back up and watched as the alien gripped the tear in his suit and ripped at it, the now damaged material shearing far more easily than it would normally. A strange material was exposed below the suit, soaked and browning with the red blood and dirt. The alien leaned against the hood, plunging its fingers into the wound and crying out hoarsely. Spock watched in wonder as it pulled out a filthy piece of metal, wiping it on a clean portion of the spacesuit and tossing it aside.

Spock stared for a moment as it held its hand out expectantly before practically tossing the device into its hands. It tilted its head down to look at the device a moment, and Spock was struck with the oddity of the situation.

Out there, in the red dunes, on such a clear night, this figure, clad in glowing gold, bleeding foreign blood, leaning on the hood of his car and tending its own wounds, was less real than a dream.

It took the device in one hand and the fabric under its suit in the other, pulling the material away from the wound. It looked worse, in the light of his car, than it had before, and the red around it a rich and beautiful color. Spock peered closely at it, intrigued, even as the alien ignored him, bringing the little device over. A light escaped from the tip of it and the alien ran it over his wound slowly, back and forth a few times. Spock watched the skin stitch itself, amazed and excited.

"Fascinating." He murmured breathlessly and the alien glanced up at him sharply.

It gibbered at him and he furrowed his brow, wondering how he was going to go about deciphering the language in order to communicate. The thought of communicating with this alien creature was almost too exciting to contain. Spock straightened up, tamping down on his blatant glee. The alien waited a moment before muttering something else in the language. It rocked its head side to side, a small enough motion that it could keep its eyes on him and issued a high-pitched, airy sound.

Before he could make any remark, it patted its leg a moment and then tossed the healing device back into the passenger seat. Spock watched the figure turn towards its craft and drop its shoulders, head once again in a side to side motion.

"Are you in need of assistance?" Spock queried, well aware the other could not understand him.

True to form it glanced back and chattered something before racing up the side of the dune. Spock followed, wide eyed. He stopped on the precipice, while the other slid back down to its craft. It vaulted into the cockpit and Spock felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, like he were about to miss a great opportunity. Before he could shake the fear and confusion paralyzing him, the ship flickered out of existence, leaving only the dune surrounding it. And its pilot.

The alien climbed down from mid air, as though something invisible were supporting him, and Spock realized the ship was still there. It was fortunate the ship could conceal itself after sustaining such damage. The alien waved its hand up and down at him as it raced back up the side of the dune to where he still stood. It raced past him, catching the side of the dune and sliding half way before tumbling. Spock darted after it, eyes wide at its antics.

It groaned, gripping its torso tightly and Spock felt the corners of his mouth twitch in the slightest of frowns and knelt next to it. Carefully, he gestured to the car, momentarily wishing he had some way of gauging its response. Slowly, it placed a hand on his shoulder, sending wild shudders through him even with the many layers between them, and heaved itself up. Spock followed quickly, prepared to catch it if it fell again.

It made it to the car with little incident and shoved the devices unceremoniously to the floorboard. Spock inhaled sharply at the treatment of such amazing devices, but said nothing as the alien collapsed into the seat, a soft sound that was reminiscent of heavy breathing resonating around it. After it tucked its legs in, Spock closed the door and raced to the other side. He was tense in his seat, coiled tight as the alien seemed inclined not to shift from the spot it had laid itself in. The ride back to his house was just as quick as it had been out there, though at least twice as heavy.

The alien managed to sit itself up straighter as Spock pulled into his house, slowly turning its head to take it in. It was already opening its door as Spock came around, scooping up the devices from his car. It made the hoarse barking sound shortly, before falling silent with a groan and clutching its torso. Carefully, Spock lead it into his house, well aware that what he was doing was beyond an ill-conceived idea.

The alien glanced down at the pristine floor as Spock toed off his shoes, arms full of the devices, and then looked at its dirty suit and tossed its head side to side. It then slipped backwards, bracing itself on the wall and raising a hand to its head.

Spock set the devices on his counter, vowing to remove the fine red dust from everything at a later point in time. For now, his excitement bubbled up again as he approached the figure, mimicking its previous action of displaying both hands, palms forward, in front of his body. The figure held out a hand, palm forward at arm's length, and rocked its head side to side again. Spock halted, keeping his hands up. The figure reached up, shaking hands prying at the helmet a moment.

It came off with a pop and in the same swift motion it pushed back the hood to its space suit. Spock's breath caught in his throat, brown eyes blown wide.

It was beautiful, like nothing he'd seen before: the flesh tinged pink and warm looking; the hair like golden starlight, soft looking and defying gravity; the ears round and exotic; the eyes, a blue like never existed on Vulcan. It was strong and masculine and yet so fragile looking. Spock ached to touch it, to inspect it. Its red lips were turned strangely, the corners pulled up faintly towards its eyes in an unusual way.

It reached up and yanked down a near invisible zipper, exposing a black shirt underneath the suit. It paused a moment as Spock's eyes widened and looked it over, before a strange look crept upon its face and it shrugged out of the arms of the space suit, leaving it hanging loosely around its torso. Carefully, blue eyes never leaving the brown ones watching it, the alien pulled its shirt free and, wincing, removed it.

Spock fought down the impulse to touch almost immediately, staring dispassionately at the firm chest, covered in purple, green, black and red, a wide mix of new and faded bruises. Those he recognized, familiar with the structuring of bruises and hypothesizing that the red blood would lead to very different colors than his own. It seemed the alien had indeed suffered through severe blunt trauma. Still eyeing him curiously, the alien retrieved another device block like in shape, and pointed it at its exposed chest.

It made a strange whirring sound and beeped repeatedly. The alien turned it around to look at it and a string of sounds exited its mouth, harsh and tinged with anger. Spock found himself staring at the full red lips shaping themselves around the foreign language. A pink tongue darted out to wet them and Spock quickly shifted his gaze to the blue eyes, feeling strangely disquieted by the gesture.

A soft exhalation accompanied the drop of the alien's shoulders, one hand pushing through the golden strands of hair. It suddenly seemed exhausted, looking weathered and like it'd been through a crash. Spock told it to follow him, not caring that it couldn't understand, and turned on his heel. It would need cleaned before it could sleep. Judging by the soft pad of another pair of feet, the creature was following.

Spock opened the door to the bathroom and gestured for it to enter. Blue eyes leveled on his as it walked past before flicking away to survey the room. Spock turned on his heel, immediately heading to his bedroom to retrieve fresh clothes for the alien. It appeared to be of a similar stature to him. He heard a moment of shuffling echo down the hall, and then the sound of someone fiddling with things in the bathroom.

He felt a spike of annoyance that things would most likely be out of place when he returned. He quickly snatched up an old pair of slacks and a loose tunic shirt. As he returned, he noticed the trail of red dirt on his pristine white floor and exhaled a little more forcefully through his nose. Later. While the alien was bathing. Now he was preoccupied with the fact that the alien had shrugged out of the suit and was staring balefully at it.

Spock placed the clothes on the counter, immediately capturing its attention. Now that it was free of the suit, Spock could see it was wearing a strange, blue pair of pants and had returned the black shirt, adorned with the same symbol as the craft, to its chest. Counterproductive, given it would have to strip again to shower. The corner of its lips stretched up again and Spock found his ears warming at the strange gesture.

"You will bathe and leave your clothes here." Spock told him firmly, wishing he could actually communicate.

When he suspected the alien did not understand, he pointed to the shower and then glanced at the trail of dirt, as if asking if it really wanted to argue. The corners of its lips lifted higher, its mouth opening to expose pearly white teeth. Its posture did not change, so Spock assumed the gesture was not meant to be threatening.

He stepped out of the room, shutting the door to provide it privacy. His eyebrow twitched as he looked over the trail of dirt. The inside of his car was sure to be coated in the fine red powder as well.

… .. . .. …

Jim stared at the door for a long moment before he started to disrobe. Wherever the hell he was, this alien didn't speak a word of standard. That concerned him. While it wasn't uncommon for aliens that lived far from the cities to prefer their native language, almost no one didn't _know_ standard. And he wasn't that far from a city, by the look of things.

That lead him to believe he'd crashed on a pre-warp planet and was most likely breaking all kind of rules, Prime Directive being the largest. He glanced down at his mottled chest and sighed, glad that he hadn't actually damaged himself to the point of being in danger, but the few broken ribs sucked royally. The pain and disorientation from the crash leaving him with a rolling nausea and shuddering spikes of painful dizziness.

As he made his way to the shower, his thoughts turned back to the alien helping him. They couldn't communicate. He'd obviously never seen anyone like Jim. And yet there he was, offering up his bathroom, for a man he didn't even know. Offering up his home to something he'd never seen before. And acting damn calm as he did it. Almost freakishly, but Jim didn't know the first thing about the society, so he couldn't really say. Besides, he'd known a few cool cucumbers in his day.

And it had been kind of cute when he fell off the ship when Jim looked at him.

Jim shook his head, wondering at that though for the third time in an hour as he turned his attention to working out the shower. It…wasn't like he was used to seeing. He stepped in cautiously, trying to decide which controls managed what. Tentatively, he pressed a button and was immediately hit with a wave of something.

It took him a moment of the hairs standing on end to realize it was pulse vibrations. Carefully, deciding he could let the scientist in him figure it out later, he relaxed into the soothing sensation. It actually felt great, and he let a soft groan escape his lips, scrubbing his fingers through his hair to release the grime. It certainly wasn't a water shower, but he couldn't help but think he could get used to it. When all of the grime was off, Jim turned the shower off and stepped out.

His eyes fell to the clothes on the counter and frowned. Those were distinctly lacking anything he would call his style. But…with his jeans still bloody, he needed to wear something else for the moment. The slacks were made of a soft material that felt absolutely wonderful and he promptly decided he was alright with them, even if he did grudgingly have to turn the cuffs up a bit to keep from stepping on them. The shirt was of the same material, and Jim felt like he could definitely have these for nightclothes. He was already half asleep as he opened the door.

"Gah!" Jim yelped, flying backwards as he was immediately graced with the alien's visage.

He winged up an eyebrow at Jim's antics, and Jim couldn't help but puff out his cheeks in irritation. "What? You have got to stop _staring_ at me."

The man glanced away a moment before turning on his heel and starting off. Jim huffed, following him in annoyance. There really wasn't much he could do for it, at this point. He was lead back into the kitchen and flopped down at the bar, watching the alien bustle around. How exactly was he going to figure this communication thing out? Language had never been a strong point for him. And he didn't exactly know how smart his host was. Working out prime numbers might get him started on figuring out the whole deal, or it might get him confused stares.

He wasn't too keen on the idea of this alien contacting his government, if it was a pre-warp society. Even if they did take to him kindly, the less people that knew about his existence the better.

The man set a glass of clear liquid in front of him and Jim desperately hoped it was water. He didn't want to put anything strange in his mouth and end up dieing. When he hesitated to take it the pointy eared alien grabbed a piece of paper, honest to god paper, and started jotting something down on it. Jim found himself eyeing those ears again. It wasn't like he hadn't seen stranger aliens, but there was something about that little feature that just sent a thrill up his spine.

The alien pushed the paper in front of him and Jim stared down at it. There were a few symbols on the side, no doubt labeling it, and a picture. Jim inspected the extraordinarily neat drawing and almost immediately recognized the Lewis structure of H2O, though he doubted that was what they were called on the alien planet. The alien gesture to the glass and said something, almost, _almost_ sounding exasperated.

Jim took a tentative sip of water, still not sure what trace compounds could be in it that wouldn't harm the alien but could kill him. The elf's, because that was what Jim decided to call him in his head, eyes seemed to light up and Jim smiled, making a grabbing motion for the pencil he used. It seemed to consider this a moment before handing it over.

It knew the Lewis structure of water. He could work with that. He immediately set to work on a periodic table, labeling everything carefully. There was a reason the table worked. If they were advanced enough to know Lewis structures, they were advanced enough to know how a periodic table worked. Elf boy, god that made him giggle, was peering over his shoulder, brown eyes blown wide and leaning heavily into his space to observe his efforts. He couldn't help but smile, especial at how he carefully maintained a set minimum distance. He just peered at Jim curiously when he did that and Jim couldn't help but wonder what kind of society didn't have smiling.

When Jim finished, he passed the paper over, watching as the alien was highly careful to avoid actually touching his fingers even as he was completely lost in the sheet. He immediately wondered if it was a sensitivity issue, a cultural practice, or an individual trait. The strong urge to capture his hand and inspect it was a decidedly bad one and Jim occupied his hands with the glass of water.

Space-elf smoothed down the paper on the counter, muttering something to himself in his language. Jim leaned over and tapped the symbol for hydrogen, getting a sharp, curious look.

"Hydrogen." He told him, watching the eyes flick to his mouth before nodding.

"Hydrogen." The alien repeated and Jim felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. "Masu-tukh."

Oh hell. He needed to get some curse words into that mouth fast because Standard dripped off his tongue like pure sugar, molten hot and leaving scars where it touched. It took Jim a moment to process the word repeated back to him in the other language. He scrunched up his face, shaking his head. That language was going to take a bit of effort. Maybe it would be easier if he taught his own language first and then tried to pick it up, not that he wasn't going to try to remember anyway.

The alien lifted an eyebrow at his contorted expression and Jim shook his head, gesturing all the way across the table to Helium. He said as much. Space-elf, that would never stop being fun, muttered a word that sounded like 'tahal-tukh' and then whispered helium and Jim swore the word never sounded so appealing in his life.

He leaned back, blinking repeatedly and earning a look from his host. Apparently his ship wasn't the only thing to be shorted out by that crash. Brushing off the thought, because that was hardly the weirdest thing he'd ever thought, he continued with the lesson. He hadn't realized how long he'd been up until he yawned. The alien boy straightened at the action, big brown eyes staring at him amazed. Jim smirked a little, fighting down a second yawn, and rubbed his eyes.

The alien eyed him a moment, bemused, before something seemed to click and he stood. Jim watched him wearily a moment before standing under his watchful gaze. The man started through the house and Jim didn't hesitate at all this time to follow him.

There was a sharp look as he opened the door and Jim peered into a decent sized room with pillows arranged on the floor in the approximation of a bed. Briefly, Jim wondered if it was one of _those_ cultures or again a personal thing. Jim glanced nervously at the alien and saw him gesture briefly to the room and then himself, and then down the hall to another door, words slipping off his tongue fast enough to make the room spin.

When he made no move, the alien stepped into the room and Jim followed cautiously. He gestured to the pillow bed and waited, hands clasped at his back. Jim plopped down on the bed, staring at him. He repeated something in his alien language and exited into the hall, closing the door behind him and locking it with a deafening click. It was then Jim realized there was no lock access on the inside and he was stuck in the room.

Well, mostly stuck. He could probably break the window if he wanted. It occurred to Jim that it was pointless of the alien to tell him where his room was if he was just going to lock him in. Though it was possibly an after thought. Jim shrugged, sighing as he curled up on the bed. It was more comfortable than most places he'd slept. The night air was frigid outside, but the house had been pleasantly cool. The room itself was a little warmer.

Jim buried his face in the pillow and promptly sneezed. Sitting up, he inspected the bed. There were just a few traces of hairs…fur. He was sleeping in a pet bed. Oh well. Still better than most beds he'd been in. It was likely that the alien didn't have a guest room or wasn't sure if the bed would be comfortable for him. And Jim had a sneaking suspicion that the man only recognized his yawning because it was similar to what this absent pet would do when it was tired.

He was effectively an interesting pet. He'd probably have some complaint about it…in the morning.

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**First chapter: Done. So this could be a highly interesting experiment…**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Star Trek.**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

Jim was antsy as soon as he woke up. He'd had a rough night and his chest burned from the crash…among other things. He was still locked in the room and he could _hear_ the sounds of his host getting up and showering. It was reasonable to assume he wasn't going to be let out until the alien was ready, but Jim was antsy.

He wanted out of the room. More over, he didn't want this pre-warp guy to end up panicking because he eventually decided an alien was too weird to deal with. He especially didn't want him deciding that he should be handed over to the government or experimented on or something.

By the time his host opened the door, he was pacing incessantly. He said something, which Jim almost thought was an apology for making him wait, but somehow that just didn't seem to be it. After a moment he started off and Jim hurried after. Jim's stomach rumbled and the alien glanced at him appraisingly. Jim shrugged a little, not embarrassed. He would probably have to go back to the ship though. Damn protein nibs.

The alien quickly got him a glass of water and seemed to be pondering something. Jim noticed his devices lined up on the counter neatly and grabbed a thin metal box. The space elf watched him open it. Inside were a selection of hypos. Jim scrunched up his nose in disgust as he selected a painkiller. Damn hypos.

The alien was intent on him as Jim injected it into his shoulder. He winced dramatically, hissing in distaste. Brown eyes darkened considerably and Jim tried a reassuring smile. It didn't seem to work, as he was considerably more closed off than he had been just minutes ago. Jim sighed, grabbing the tricorder again to double check nothing had cropped up in the middle of the night.

He stared down at it a moment as it ensured him that yeah, he was just a beat up as always. The ridiculousness of it all caused a hysterical bubble to form in his chest. He started to laugh, leaning heavily on the counter to keep from falling out of the chair. From the corner of his eye, he saw the alien man. His eyebrow was twitching. Jim redoubled with laughter. His chest burned with it, and he was struggling with his lungs on whether he was allowed to breath or not.

When he finally controlled himself, reigning in silence with shuddering gasps, Jim waved the alien over. Hesitantly, like he genuinely wasn't sure Jim wasn't out of his mind, he approached. Jim changed the setting and turned his tricorder on the water, immediately interesting his host. When it beeped, he showed him the display. Water. A few trace elements that Jim wasn't worried about. Something he should have remembered and done the night before.

The alien looked positively floored by this information, eyes wide and jaw a little looser than normal. He looked shocked, like a little child that had just been shown the greatest toy in the universe and had been told he could play with it if he was good.

The little element lesson apparently stuck, because he had realized what the readout was saying. And, like that little child, he started bringing things over for Jim to scan. Jim grinned, chuckling as he humored him. A surprising number of the things he brought him were edible. Jim recoiled spectacularly as one fruit proved not poisonous, but most certainly a one way ticket to anaphylactic shock. Confused, the alien took it away, wondering at what he had seen that should worry him. Jim just wondered at the similarity to a kiwi.

When his stomach growled again, Jim remembered that he was supposed to be going back to the ship to get food, not playing with an alien. He seemed to realize what the problem was, because he gestured to the kitchen, indicating that he should get up and do something about it.

Now Jim was nervous.

… .. . .. …

The alien device was amazing. Spock wanted nothing more than to sit down with it and continue to learn of it's functions. The alien's stomach indicated that it was hungry, however, and Spock realized that it was waiting for permission to eat. When he gestured for it to use the kitchen at its discretion, it shrank back, eyes indicating a wild, animalistic fear at that prospect.

He was uncertain how to indicate that it was acceptable for it to ingest the foods necessary for its nutrient requirements. He gestured again for the alien to stand, and it reluctantly did as he asked.

Spock handed it a raw fruit that it had expressed interest in that did not need further preparation. It stared at the fruit, the corners of its mouth pulled in and down, its lower lip protruding farther than normal. Carefully, it brought the fruit to its mouth and took a small bite of the skin. It stared at the fruit for a moment before taking a larger bite. Spock watched in fascination as it chewed slowly, pondering the fruit.

The fruit had a crisp texture and a taste similar to cooked sugar. It was adequate for providing fiber and basic carbohydrates as well as some vitamins. Spock was unsure if it would prove poisonous, however he suspected the device had the capability of informing the alien of the attributes of the scanned item. The alien seemed to find it adequate for its purposes and was eating it quickly. It seemed to know already to avoid the seed at the center, a fact Spock was grateful for as he did not wish to remove the obtrusion when it proved a choking hazard, as he had once done with his sehlat.

Spock froze as the alien began cleaning its hand with its tongue. While it was not an action he was unaccustomed to in pets and the like, to see one so similar in form to himself doing such an action was disquieting. His stomach felt tight and he watched, somewhat transfixed by the image. The alien caught him watching and its blue eyes widened considerably and it yanked its hand from its mouth, the skin of its face coloring a dusty red.

Spock averted his eyes, gesturing to the kitchen for it to take any fruit or such it liked, or make use of the hand washing station. He could feel its blue eyes boring into the back of his head as he quickly vacated the room.

… .. . .. …

Jim resisted the urge to beat his head against the counter. Despite common beliefs, he hadn't actually been raised in a barn. Not that his upbringing had been all that great, but he was usually pretty good about his manners. Admittedly, he didn't know the first thing about eating habits on this planet, or this country…area…place…specifically. He really had no idea what kind of society this planet had. It clearly wasn't a type 3. He highly doubted it was a type 2, either, considering they would probably have achieved warp if they had reached that point.

That left either a type 1 or type 0. Type 0 had way too many stages. It definitely wasn't a stone age type of place, but how far was it from type 1 if it wasn't there? A thousand years? A hundred? Maybe it was on the cusp of becoming a type 2. Until he knew the social structure and the technological level of the planet he just couldn't be sure.

That was a huge digression from the current problem.

Clearly he was going to have to be much more careful about licking his hands because that was some kind of unhygienic issue or something. The alien boy looked like he'd just stuck his hand down his pants or something for how big an affront it seemed to be. Jim hadn't been trying to bother him, honestly.

He considered washing his hands and quickly vacating the room, but he was hungry and wasn't sure when meals were generally served. He grabbed a different fruit that had a more citrus like composition. It was juicy and nice after he removed the rind, tasting like a weird mix between mint and peaches. It was also incredibly messy, leaving trails of true blue juice on his hands and mouth.

That was a note of interest with him, as he knew very few planets had real blue food naturally. The hand washing station was another of those sonic things and Jim wondered if maybe water was a scarce resource or just not the preferred method. He scowled for a moment, wondering how he was going to clean his mouth.

His host returned looking much more composed, only to raise an eyebrow at him. Jim flushed, glancing away in embarrassment. He must have looked like a complete idiot. The alien said something, an even tone that Jim could swear was almost amused. He sharply met those big brown eyes and could swear that was mirth dancing there. The space-elf handed him a towel and Jim quickly wiped his face, scowling.

The alien accepted it back easily, saying something curtly in its native tongue. Jim groaned in frustration, flopping down in one of the counter seats. Greeny furrowed his brow ever so slightly, a fact Jim was surprised to have even caught with how small it was.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you had warp technology and a translator that spoke standard." Jim could tell his speaking in his native language was just a little frustrating to the alien man. "Where to even start? How did the first colonists start finding common ground with people?"

The alien seemed to know he was equally frustrated, because its eyes fell to the paper they had been working with before. The periodic table. Science. Science was something they obviously had in common, but it could never be enough. There was no way to just communicate.

"Spock." Jim snapped his head up at the foreign word, feeling like he was truly being addressed for the first time. "Nash-veh kup wimish Spock."

Jim didn't have to understand the words to understand an introduction. "Spock…My name is Jim."

… .. . .. …

"Jim." The name was most certainly not of his world.

It felt exotic on Spock's lips, sent a strange sensation coursing through him. Like the warmth that had consumed him while he watched the alien clean itself, but different. It didn't make him want to run, overwhelmed with the need to hide from the sensation inside him. Rather, it emboldened him, making him want for more.

More what he wasn't sure. More knowledge, or skill, time perhaps. He just wanted and something in him told him this alien could give him what he wanted. Spock reigned in these feeling, resolving to meditate more as clearly this encounter was proving harrowing for his barriers. Jim as it was, was considering something very closely. Finally, it nodded to itself, clearly deciding its thought process was acceptable.

With its teeth exposed, Jim placed its hand on its chest. "Me."

The word was soft and perhaps for the first time Spock realized how gentle the language seemed. It was like the strings of harp, musical and light. The word, however, was completely foreign. Spock gestured towards Jim in confusion, repeating the word. Jim barked, shaking its head and repeating a word over and over. It patted its chest firmly and repeated the word before gesturing to Spock and using another, different word.

Spock hesitated, before gesturing to himself. "Me?"

The alien nodded enthusiastically and seemed to be doing its best to agree. When Spock pointed to it and uttered the other word it said ,'you', it redoubled its excitement. He felt like a child, learning such basic concepts and like a child, Spock was eager to discover.

… .. . .. …

The elementary lesson continued for most of the day and Jim was delighted that he retained things really well. Quizzing him a couple hours later on some of the first words he taught him proved they were just as fresh in his mind. The next day would be the real test of his memory, however.

When lunch came around, the alien started preparing something. Jim watched closely, offering up comments and words in standard for what he was doing. It had been a while, though, since Jim had a real, home made meal. Sure, it was on an alien planet being made by someone who didn't speak the same language as him, but you take what you can. And this wasn't protein nibs or replicator food. The alien was equally devoted to learning the words Jim was offering up as he was to cooking. It seemed to take no effort and offer no pause, as clearly he needn't devote his full attention to the task at hand.

The alien had called it something, barkaya marak. It looked like some sort of weird, vegetable soup. Smelled like it too. Jim had no problem what so ever with vegetables, though based on what he was seeing, he was getting the feeling this alien was a vegetarian of some kind. He immediately began wondering if that was a lifestyle choice or if he was an herbivore.

The vegetable soup was good, though, kind of like cream of spinach. The alien had poured himself some kind of bitter smelling tea that Jim politely refused. Ch'aal, as he had called it, did not seem appetizing, let alone with his soup.

Jim didn't even stop his lessons, diving right into talking about words for eating and meals. Sentence structure was proving to be a concept even Jim was having trouble explaining, though. Spock refused his help in cleaning up, though he continued to accumulate words and attempt small sentences.

When his finished, he returned to the nook at which Jim was sitting and sat down. He seemed to be struggling with a thought, if the slight furrow of his brow was anything to be going on. He started to say something, in his native tongue, and paused, correcting himself.

"What…no…you…face?" Jim could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew how horrible that sentence was.

"You mean what's wrong with my face?" Jim asked with a snicker, before it sank in what he was being asked. "Hey! What's wrong with my face?"

Spock took a moment to understand the question was being turned on him because he didn't know what he meant. He gestured to his own cheek and Jim couldn't help but stare at him like he was making no sense at all. Hesitantly, the alien reached out and hovered his hand over Jim's cheek, a good few inches away. It took him a moment, but then Jim realized exactly where his hand was.

"Oh! My scar!"

"Scar?"

Jim furrowed his brow. They hadn't discussed concepts like time or wounds or anything like that. He wasn't exactly sure how to delve into the concept. Slowly, haltingly, he tried to explain, eventually resulting in gestures to his leg and the device he had used to heal it. Finally, he somehow managed to convey that the wound on his face had healed wrong, leaving a scar. This seemed to positively blow the alien's mind.

… .. . .. …

Spock had heard of scarring occurring before in rare cases with exceptional damage. Was it the same for this alien creature? Or was its species easier to damage? Was it a product of its healing device malfunctioning? The language was exceptionally difficult to grasp, so that he could not formulate a way to ask it.

There as a chime and Spock leapt to his feet, heart rate increasing due to his surprise. A visitor? The timing was terrible. The alien was looking around in confusion, and Spock grabbed it's devices from the counter, pushing them into it's arms and directing it back to its room. It…Jim…seemed to realizes what was happening, because it complied quickly. Spock locked the door behind it and hurried to the front door.

He took a deep breath and righted his shirt before opening the door. Sarek was standing there, looking less than pleased at having been left to wait. Spock quickly gestured for him to enter. Sarek took his time about it, though, moving almost leisurely and heading into the kitchen to sit without a word.

"Why have you visited me, father?" Spock's eyes widened when he saw the paper covered in alien script and casually tucked it into a drawer.

"Were you aware that a meteorite fell last night?" Sarek glanced around the room, looking for something.

"I was aware of a flash of light and a similar sound to that of a meteor." Spock admitted. "It did not disintegrate entering the atmosphere?"

"It did not." Sarek turned to him.

After a moment of silence, Spock prompted him to continue. "Was it recovered?"

"It was not." Another stretch of silence.

"I was unaware that any rock masses large enough or composed of such materials as to survive entry into the atmosphere were in the vicinity of Vulcan." Spock spoke very stiffly.

"Indeed." Sarek didn't elaborate. "You are not to search out this meteorite. If you have any knowledge of its whereabouts you will inform the Science Academy immediately?"

"Of course." He agreed, technically not lying because there _was_ no meteorite. "I will leave any searches to the capable students attending the Academy."

The note of sarcasm was not missed. "There is a chance of immense danger. We do not know if this object is radioactive or otherwise dangerous. No student is to approach it. A specialized task force is being created to locate and retrieve it."

"I see." Spock hesitated only a moment. "I thank you for your consideration."

Sarek stared at him for a good minute. "Very well."

"Will you and mother be joining me soon for a meal?" Spock asked quickly.

Right on cue, Sarek stood up. "This is indeterminable. I make no promises either way. I must return to work now."

"Yes father. Please inform mother of my continued desire for her health." Spock followed him to the door, locking it behind him as he left.

His heart had not stopped racing the entire time. Now, he rushed to the room the alien was currently in and opened the door. Jim tumbled out, having been pressing its body to the door no doubt in some odd attempt to hear what was going on. It looked up at him with a most curious look on its face.

Almost instantaneously, his heart slowed. The clear, sharp blue eyes seemed to calm him instantly. The firm look on Jim's face, as it let go of its curiosity and seemed to be considering something, was intense and strangely engaging. Spock stepped back as it stood.

"Wrong?" It intoned with just a single word.

"No." The words still felt so very strange in his mouth, almost like he couldn't convey what he desired quite right.

Jim nodded, its eyebrows furrowed together and lower lip protruding slightly. It was a look Spock was beginning to understand the alien used when it was displeased by something. It softly said something that Spock couldn't have understood anyway, the tone of its voice implying displeasure. Spock raise an eyebrow at it, before turning and heading to the study. The alien jogged to catch up, before falling into step behind him, looking at a part of the house it had not been in before.

As curious and amazing as the alien was, Spock was beginning to realize that if he fell behind on his studies, they would be discovered. The alien frowned.

… .. . .. …

He was being ignored. This guy had a genuine alien in his house, and he was...what? Doing homework? Jim turned his attention to the shelves of books. He had no idea what any of them were about, but he would be damned if he let that stop him. He pulled a book out, flipped through the pages, and stuffed it back in. Spock glanced over at him, but said nothing. Frustrated, Jim repeated the action. He was momentarily distracted by the fact that this was a real book in his hand.

His distraction with the pages stopped when the ungainly, heavy book flopped open to a picture he was quite familiar with. He plopped down cross-legged on the floor, settling the book in his lap. Spock swiveled around to watch him, curious.

It was a medical book. Specifically, it was a pair of anatomical diagrams. Jim didn't know the words, but he had a pretty good idea of what the inside of a body looked like. He'd seen his fair share of medical texts, learning basic first-aid.

The body on the page was different than his own. That was to be expected. He was particularly fascinated with the detailed depictions of nerve clusters in the fingers. Was that why the man was so hesitant to touch and seemed alarmed by his own casual use of his fingers? His fingers danced over the pages, hovering over images as he'd done once before with depictions of his own species.

_'The kidney, eh? So that's why I piss blood when I get hit there?' _Jim shook off the memory, turning the page.

And froze immediately at the depiction he saw. "Is that...a heart?"

He pressed his lower ribcage in confusion, as if he would feel his own heart there and had just missed it before. He shook his head, placing his hand over his chest. That was where a heart belonged. He glanced over to find his space-elf staring at him in utter confusion. Jim pushed the book off of his lap a little roughly and shifted to his knees, crawling the short distance to sit beside Spock.

Spock was gazing at him blankly, almost like he were trying to figure out a puzzle. Jim understood that feeling. Hesitantly, he reached out, pausing a short distance from the alien man. When he received no protest, he closed the gap, settling his palm against the side of his stomach. There, he found a strong, insanely rapid heartbeat. It didn't slow, though, and Jim found himself amazed that such a thing could really be just a thin layer of cloth and flesh away.

He looked up into rich chocolate eyes and furrowed brows.

Jim shifted, awkwardly rising up as Spock was still seated, to press his ear to his abdomen. It was an incredibly awkward position, but the thunderous strum made it worth it. He heard what almost sounded like a little hiccup of surprise and sat back immediately, blushing. He was invading this person's space. Jim was once again forgetting that people _liked_ their personal space, even when he himself didn't care for people getting too close.

Spock seemed no worse for wear, though, so Jim smiled at him. He just stared back. Sighing, Jim gently touched his wrist. That earned a rather violent withdrawal. Jim raised his hands immediately, showing he meant no harm. Carefully, slowly, he took him by the wrist and, without touching skin, and with a great deal of reluctance on Spock's part, Jim brought his hand to his chest.

… .. . .. …

Spock had been uncomfortable with the invasion of his space. His curiosity at Jim's actions, however, made him reluctant to distance himself. Now, any doubt about the sheer alienness of this figure before him was completely washed away by the slow, steady heartbeat. It was hypnotic, how very smooth and lethargic Jim's heart was. It was painfully slow, the anticipation of each beat excruciatingly drawn out. It was...exquisite.

Spock slid from his chair, pressing his ear to Jim's chest in the same smooth motion. The heartbeat he found there was so loud. Foreign and yet frustratingly familiar, like a distant, strumming thought. Jim's breath hitched, a soft cessation of inhalation before slowly, quietly exhaling.

Spock leaned back. "Fascinating."

Jim's lips parted, the corners upturned and its teeth showing. He was beginning to assume this was a good thing. Spock looked at it...Jim's lips. There were such a vibrant shade of red, yet more proof of its alien heritage. Its golden hair, so foreign and fascinating. And its eyes. Those glorious, blue eyes. So much was visible there, things Spock could not begin to decipher. So different and yet strikingly similar.

Spock couldn't help but wonder, just what it was like, in that alien's mind.

Spock jerked back and to his feet, knocking his chair over with the force of his movement. Jim cocked its head to the side, watching him inquisitively. It didn't know, _couldn't_ know, just what thought had accosted him. Something so base in nature, so disgusting. Spock shuddered at his own depravity. He had been told, time and again, that he was to never touch the mind of another being.

"Spock?"

He turned to look back at Jim. Jim, who was giving him a rather strange look. Spock couldn't explain to it his actions. Even if they were not separated by their languages, Spock did not know how he would being to explain. So he didn't, distancing himself from the alien.

Jim continued to stare at him for a time before taking a small pile of papers and a pencil from the desk and returning to the book. Spock pointedly didn't observe its actions. It did not take him as long as he might have hoped, however, to catch up on his work. It was just a little past dinner time when he stopped. Jim was still leaning over the book, its pencil scratching repeatedly over the paper.

"Jim." Spock decided to act as though nothing had happened.

Jim glance dismissively at him before returning to its work. Spock called the name again, gesturing for Jim to stand, but it didn't even look. Spock felt rage boil under his skin. He was being ignored, again. He would not be ignored in his own home.

"Jim!" Spock snapped, hauling it up by its arm.

And immediately he released the alien, shocked by his own loss of control and the fear in those previously bright and trusting eyes. Jim sank back to the ground, curling around its arm and chest, as though trying to protect itself. Spock felt utter disgust at his actions and all but ran from the room.

… .. . .. …

Jim rocked back and forth for a few minutes, trying to calm his racing heart. Shit. He'd pissed off the native. Jim shuddered a little, wrapping his arms tighter. No no nonono. This was bad. He couldn't upset him. He hadn't meant to. Honestly he had just been engrossed in the work. Oh god. He was going to turn him in or something. That was it. Jim was in no condition to even begin repairing the ship. He was stranded. And he'd just gone and upset his one chance at surviving long enough to get out of there.

He fought down the urge to cry, reminding himself that he was a big boy and didn't do that anymore. But images of the alien looming over him, once genial behavior completely gone in favor of a familiar and terrifying anger continued to flood his mind.

He hadn't been sure, before, when the alien helped carry him from the ship, but he knew it now. He was considerably stronger than Jim. And him, doing something to upset the other. God. He wasn't even going to turn him in, he was going to beat him to death.

Tears started to flow down his face. He'd always known that was going to be how he went. He gritted his teeth, trying to stop, but the fear and helplessness, trapped here on a unknown planet with no hope of escape, it weight him down.

Jim shook and sobbed, rocking in place though none of these actions offered him comfort. He felt like a child again, hiding in a closet and knowing he would have to come out eventually and when he did he'd receive an extra beating for being a coward and for making everyone listen to his crying echoing through the house.

And the crying made his chest ache and the pain just reminded him of what he was going to experience. Each shivering, shuddering convulsion increased his sobs, until he was prone with fear and pain, almost wailing with it.

… .. . .. …

"Captain..." A young man dressed in yellow swiveled on the bridge of a ship. "We've found the trail for the ship...you aren't gong to like this."

A man just starting to gray nodded to him. "Where is it?"

"It appears to be in a poorly explored system. The trajectory would imply that the ship crash landed on an inhabited, per-warp planet."

He turned his gaze to a woman at another station. "Sounds like we need to get in contact with someone a little higher up. Hold position until we know how to proceed."

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**Poor boys. I don't know which one I feel more sorry for. It occurs to me that I did almost nothing over my break from school that could qualify as a long story, but I kind of hope for this one to be...Figures that as soon as I don't have free time I fill it up with writing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own. Enjoy.**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

The sounds Jim was making were highly disturbing and not at all helping with the meditation Spock was attempting. Not in the slightest. Finally, he stood, pacing his room a bit as he considered any possible way to stop hearing it.

Continuously, it came back to getting Jim to stop. However, he knew quite reasonably that it was his fault and any further action, especially without prior meditation, was likely to scare him further. He was frustrated and didn't know how to help and he just wanted the awful sounds to stop. As such, he wasn't thinking logically when he entered the study again.

Any logic he had been holding onto was completely lost by the look of utter devastation on Jim's face at his return. He had done this, put this fear into another living being.

He dropped to his knees, reaching slowly to Jim, who, though its eyes were wild with fear, made no motion. Spock pulled the alien to him, heart beating faster at the way he allowed it, limp and lifeless as a doll. Jim was doing what it could to mitigate the damage it feared it would receive, playing at dead so as to reduce the injury it would receive. Spock's heart felt as though it was swelling with pain. His lungs no longer seemed to function properly as he cradled the alien to him, attempting to offer something, _anything_ that could ease the fear he put into it.

Jim's broken, choked sobs were still audible to him, though it was obvious there was an attempt to stifle them.

Spock acted out of instinct. Out of the intrinsic need to sooth the pain. He knew, if he could just make Jim understand...

Jim remained frozen in place as Spock's hand flew to the side of its face. If he could just make Jim understand, communicate, somehow.

Jim's mind was hot and freezing and so empty and vast that Spock felt insignificant and yet so full and quick to a tight embrace. He was lost, in a sea of foreign design, in a world where water was no longer wet and the air was unbreathable and stars didn't shine so much as exist on another plane entirely. There was no light, or darkness, no concept of time. Cities rose and fell in seconds and universes were created and died and there _was_ no concept of time to say how long it took and there was no light to show it nor darkness to hide even an inch of its vastness. And water could still drown and the stars still did something that wasn't entirely unlike shining, yet the space there was so grand they couldn't pierce even the tiniest of the emptiness and fill it with something. Everything pulsed with something, the emptiness itself all consuming and surrounding, holding tight with an overwhelming strength and pressing the entire weight of it down on him.

Spock broke from the meld, eyes wide and utterly lost. Jim stared at him, far more situated than should be fair for the situation.

"Whoa." He whispered. "What did you do to me?"

"I do not know." Spock croaked out.

… .. . .. …

Jim scrambled back. "Holy shit. You're speaking standard. Are you speaking standard? You're a telepath. You fucked with my language center, man."

Spock furrowed his brow, and it occurred to Jim that he was definitely speaking standard. "I...do not fully understand you."

"Right." Jim nodded, breathing heavily and speaking much slower. "You're a telepath. You just aren't designed to actually jack language."

"Jack...no..." Spock shook his head minutely.

"So you have a rudimentary understanding at best, vague knowledge based on _my_ understanding of the words." Jim continued. "I...did you have to touch me?"

Spock blinked, trying to keep up, before turning green. "Forgive me. I should not have touched your mind."

His slow pace was starting to frustrate Jim, but the magnitude of this was more important than a speedy discussion. "Okay. Touch telepath. That...yeah...that explains a lot."

"Telepath...you have telepaths on your planet?"

"Yeah there are like-" Jim froze, eyeing him. "Oh god. I can't be talking to you. This is a pre-warp civilization."

"Pre-warp..." He mulled on the phrase for a second before declaring something almost excitedly in his native tongue. "This is your travel?"

Jim groaned, placing his head in his hands and being surprised by the wetness he found there. Oh yeah. He had been crying. God that was embarrassing. Spock seemed to notice his distraction and watched as he hurriedly wiped at his eyes.

"What is being expelled from your eyes?"

Jim flushed. "They're tears, you know, water from the eyes."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating. Your body releases water freely?"

Jim scowled. "You're taking to this language thing awfully fast. And yes. Why is that weird?"

"Forgive me. Vulcans-" Spock paused, wondering at that translation, which was not inaccurate, just not in his language. "Vulcans do not exude water from their body. As you can see, we are native to a largely desert planet. As for my adaptation to your language...it is of benefit to Vulcans to hold no emotion and to quickly analyze their situation."

Jim scrunched up his face. "Ooooookay then."

"Jim." Spock reached for him.

Jim scrambled back, feeling instinctively afraid. He immediately felt bad for his knee-jerk reaction, when he saw a fleeting pass of horror in Spock's eyes. Spock withdrew, and Jim had to force himself back into his space.

"I am sorry." Spock wasn't looking at him. "I have harmed you."

"N-no. You're fine." Jim croaked out, gently reaching out to put the very tips of his fingers on his sleeve.

Spock straightened himself. "You are being deceitful. I have caused you emotional damage."

Jim furrowed his brow. "Okay. Something is really bothering me right now. I know I have a large vocabulary, but I _never_ use those words. So why the heck are they coming so easily to you?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it is my familiarity with the concepts behind them. You are diverting from the topic."

"I'm good at that." Jim growled. "Is everyone on you planet a telepath or is it rare?"

"It is not uncommon." Spock admitted. "However, it is considered unacceptable to meld with another on most occasions."

Jim rocked back on his heels, focusing on what he was finding out. It kept him from panicking. He felt quite a bit safer now that he could understand the other man. That didn't make him safe, but at least he could _try_ reasoning with him if he could communicate. It also helped that, by the look on his face, it was new for him to attack someone. Perhaps Jim could get out of there before he started to like it.

"Did you get anything else?" Jim scowled. "You know, any other thoughts or memories or anything?"

Spock cocked his head in consideration. "I...do not believe so. No. It is very difficult..."

"I get that." Jim said sympathetically, because he did. It wasn't his first rodeo with telepaths, just the most...direct. "I need you to-"

Jim stopped mid sentence, eyes going wide. He groaned in pain and doubled over, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. Spock quickly moved to his side, hovering over him.

"You are injured. How may I assist you?"

Jim tried to chuckle, but it only made the pain worse. "Ah. My first-aid kit. The metal box with the vials in it. My painkiller wore off."

Jim's voice was raspy, faint. Spock hurried to the kitchen, from what Jim could hear. The subsequent banging implied that he was digging for something and the he was back in the room, though Jim hadn't even heard his footsteps. He presented the kit to Jim, who withdrew a hypospray and injected it, groaning in discomfort.

"This is...medicine?" Spock hesitated a moment, searching for the word.

"Yeah." Jim agreed when he felt well enough to sit up again. "Really great up until the end of the time it says. When they say eight hours, they mean eight hours and no damn seconds."

Spock raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. Jim grunted, acknowledging that the joke fell flat when your listener didn't really click with the language.

After a moment of highly awkward silence, Spock spoke again. "What did you need of me?"

"Ah..." Jim's mind supplied several possible answers for that, at least one involving a clown and several ferrets. "I need you to do two things. Remain calm, which yeah, you seem to be doing pretty well right now but eventually it's going to click that you're communicating with an alien that has lived on another planet and can travel through the distances between them rapidly and let me tell you, even when you grow up in that kind of situation it can be pretty mind blowing when you start thinking about it."

Spock gave him a dubious look, then nodded. "And your second requirement?"

"Can you please not actively pock around in my mind for information, or, you know, turn me over to someone who would?" Jim winced at the stern look in those eyes.

"I do not believe this will be a problem." Spock looked him over, eyes falling back to the first aid kit. "You are not prepared to treat serious injuries. If you are capable of informing me of the damage you have received, I may be able to assist you."

Jim flushed, because he really hadn't thought about that. "It isn't serious...really."

… .. . .. …

Debating the definition of serious was difficult for Spock seeing as the best definition he had for it was Jim's own. He could easily provide a lengthy definition for a similar word in his own language, however, and though he stumbled at a few points he eventually convinced Jim to allow him to offer medical assistance. This was somewhat hindered by the fact that, every time he had to search for a word in Jim's language, Jim muttered a word he _couldn't_ seem to grasp the meaning for. When Spock admitted this and demanded a definition for the word lethologica, Jim proceeded to make the strange barking sound, a laugh his new diction told him.

He stopped though, groaning and wrapping his arms around his torso. Spock fixated his eyes on him, waiting for him to acknowledge that the painkiller was not doing as much as it could. Jim sneered at him, before finally nodding. He tensed, however, when Spock made to lift his shirt. After a long staring match, Jim let his hands fall to the side, no longer protecting his vital organs.

Spock gently lifted the fabric, careful not to touch his skin. The bruises had spread, lending a purplish-green color to his entire torso. Jim grimaced, perhaps self-conscious of the mix of old and new bruises that was somewhat horrific.

"I think I have some broken ribs." Jim admitted when Spock didn't speak for several minutes. "No. That's a lie. I know I do. A couple were almost healed when I crashed."

Spock cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, the most minimal of movements as he contemplated something. "You were injured previously?"

"Yeah." Jim grimaced. "It isn't too important."

Spock reached down, ghosting his fingers over the bruised flesh, instantly picking out the jagged edges of the broken bone. Jim's breathing hitched, perhaps from pain, or fear. Spock wasn't sure. What he was sure of were the firm knots in the bone, just below a layer of tight muscle. Jim had broken many bones before, most set incorrectly. Spock was not inclined to gamble, but he was willing to believe that those along his ribs were only a fraction of the breaks he had suffered, though he held out hope that perhaps they were the greater fraction.

"I do not believe the breaks are so..." Spock paused, searching for a word and coming up wanting. "They do not need to be set. However, your torso should be bound to prevent further damage from movement. Is this acceptable?"

Jim groaned a bit. "Yeah. Okay. I'm not very good at that kind of thing."

"I will assist you." Spock told him, rising to his feet and momentarily leaving the room.

He hesitated as he retrieved the necessary supplies for assisting Jim. He was being unnecessarily tactile with the alien. Though he made weak justifications that such measures were necessary to provide medical attention, that did not provide for his initial, aggressive touch, or the subsequent decision to meld with him.

Him. It seemed so odd, now that he felt so sure of things about this alien, yet, having been in his mind, he was almost disappointed that he did not know more. Disappointment, however was unbecoming of a Vulcan. What would his father say if he knew? Spock reeled momentarily at the thought, internally as it was. His father could never know of his transgressions. A feat easier said than done, when one took the general difficulty of hiding an alien into consideration.

He returned, pointedly not allowing himself to think on his unbecoming mannerisms. Jim would not judge him by Vulcan standards.

Jim was half-undressed and prodding his broken ribs. Spock felt a twitch of anger. Had he no self preservation? Jim glanced up at him and barred his teeth. _Grinned_. It was fascinating, these word being provided to him. Spock knelt next to him, watching as Jim struggled into a better sitting position. His actions no longer seemed tinged with pain, but he was stiff and slow.

Carefully, Spock moved into position to wrap his torso. Jim settled tersely in the ring of his arms, resting his forehead on Spock's shoulder. Jim's skin was so cool to the touch, so alien.

… .. . .. …

Jim shuddered with the pain of the tight binding. It wasn't the first time he'd had his chest bandaged up, but there was something about the way Spock did it that seemed more secure. His hands were warm, firm and steady. So warm, actually. Jim couldn't help but enjoy the warmth, easing over the aches. Even with the painkillers, he was sore. But he'd never _had_ someone care for him. He couldn't hold onto the tension for long.

For perhaps the first time in quite a while, he found himself genuinely relaxing. He knew he shouldn't. Spock had just _attacked_ him. But...he trusted him. It was a horrifying thought, and if he weren't currently turning into a pile of goo under those hands, he'd be panicking, but it was hard to panic.

Spock's hands smoothed down his sides, checking that the wrapping was neat and tight. "Are you well?"

Jim nodded. "Mm. 'M comfy."

He felt Spock shift ever so slightly. "You are tired?"

"Yes." Jim made a token effort to sit up, before slumping further against the space-elf.

"Do you wish to eat before you rest?" Spock seemed very tense against him, and Jim wondered if this was a taboo for a touch telepath.

"Whatever." Jim agreed.

Spock shifted them both, effortlessly dragging Jim to his feet as he stood. Jim leaned back, blinking at him in surprise. Spock's ears were green. Green blooded...not the weirdest color he had seen. Pepto-pink still took the cake for that. Yeah. He was getting the feeling this guy was not the touchy-feely type. Damn his knee jerk reactions, now he wanted to try and make him uncomfortable. This was why he got beaten up so often.

Spock didn't seem to notice, distancing himself immediately. Jim trudged after him, trying to work out just how he had actually started _acting_ like an interesting pet.

… .. . .. …

In spite of their previous encounter, Jim seemed disinclined to hold reproach for his actions. He was strangely relaxed around him. Spock had marveled at his easy manner, behavior unlike anything one would exhibit on Vulcan. That was before his unbecoming behavior. Now he was positively stunned, floored by the trust he displayed.

Jim was speaking rapidly about something or another. Spock was missing the occasional word, especially with the speed he was using. It was curious that he could force his words out at such a speed without stumbling over them. Though he could not follow Jim's train of thought, he found himself enjoying listening. He had been fascinated, when he first heard Jim speaking his language. A better word, with his faint understanding of the words coming to him, would perhaps be entranced. Though the language was still so foreign, his understanding allowed him to better appreciate what he was hearing.

"So what do you think?" Jim stumbled to a stop, giving him a wide and curious smile.

"I did not follow your line of speech, Jim." Spock informed him.

Jim chuckled. "Oh. Yeah. You know you can tell me to slow down, right?"

"Indeed." Spock returned his attention to his meal. "You had led me to believe you were tired."

Jim's cheeks flushed a dusty red. "Are you telling me to shut up?"

Spock cocked his head to the side, contemplating the phrase. He was unsure if that was indeed what he was telling him. Jim blurted out a declaration of surprise, indicating there was something wrong with him thinking about it. In Spock's experience, silence indicated an unlikeable answer. So it was no surprise that, when he declined to indicate either way, Jim made a sound of outrage and folded his arms over his chest.

Throughout the remainder of dinner, Jim flashed him hurt looks, followed promptly by breaking out into laughter. Spock felt particularly..._fond,_ if he were to attribute an emotion to the strange desire to induce such a look, of what he understood to be a pout. Jim's blue eyes seemed particularly large when he made such a look, and the exotic red color of his lower lip was accentuated by his jutting it out. The action itself was utterly alien and the part of Spock's brain attempting to rationalize his encounters here insisted he was observing.

Spock was in the middle of washing dishes when he heard a soft, grating sound. He turned to see Jim bent over the counter, head resting on his arms. The awkward position made his breathing uneven and rough. He momentarily wondered how two diametrically opposed words, such as soft and rough, could equally apply to different qualities of the sound he was making. His musing was cut short when Jim squirmed and nearly fell from his seat.

Deciding it was for the best, if he was to keep the man from injuring himself, Spock lifted Jim from his seat and carried him to the other room, where he could sleep. Jim curled closer to him, gripping the front of his shirt tightly and whimpering. Spock was unsure if it was an action born of pain, or if something else inclined him to do such. Jim released him easily enough, though, when he settled him into the pile of pillows.

He didn't lock the door behind him as he left the room.

… .. . .. …

Jim stared at Spock for a good minute. When the ever off balance space-elf once again offered the pile of clothing to him, he couldn't help but grin. Something that was promptly followed with a slap on the arm. Spock continued to stare as he snatched up the clothing and sequestered himself in the bathroom. Jim had a niggling suspicion that Spock knew exactly the best way to handle him. As it had only been a couple days, he knew that wasn't true. Objectively, it was more likely that he had Spock completely out of his depths, but that didn't change the fact that Spock was still doing a damn good job of handling him.

The first order of business being his clean jeans. Oh how he loved those jeans. And yes, there was still a hole in the thigh that he should probably repair, but it wasn't a huge, gaping thing and it could wait a damn day because he wanted to wear his jeans. The Starfleet shirt he could have done without, being such a charming reminder that he couldn't just stay there, but somehow he would survive it.

He leaned his head against the wall in the sonic shower, ignoring how he had been in too long and his skin was starting to turn red. He had to leave.

As soon as he was healed enough, which if he was being honest instead of putting it off, he had been alright at the time of the landing and after a good night's sleep, he was going to have to get the ship and try to repair it. He'd been telling himself that he needed to properly communicate before he could even think about that, but there was no helping it. They'd already solved that little problem...well, mostly. Spock still looked at him like he was speaking a different language most of the time...which he was. Though Jim had the sneaking suspicion that he understood better than he was claiming to, either through sheer disbelief or, more likely and more amusingly in Jim's opinion, he was doing so to ease their interactions with each other.

The only problem here, really, was that Jim had no idea where to start with the ship. How was he even going to get it somewhere safe? Because he certainly wasn't going to just work on it in the desert where anyone could see him.

As he exited the bathroom to the sounds and scents of Spock making breakfast, he couldn't help but feel morose. How was he going to convince Spock to help him? Especially if the thought of Jim leaving made him mad. He had no proof of it. Hell, the guy had even said his kind were supposed to not have emotions, or some such bull. But he'd already hauled him up once intent on bodily injury.

"Jim." Spock glanced up from whatever he was cooking. "Would you please retrieve flatware?"

Jim snickered at how very domestic that felt. "Sure. Want me to get anything else?"

"You may provide yourself with fluids if you need. However, I require nothing else from you." Spock returned his attention to the food, almost dismissively.

"Why did you attack me?" Jim slapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he said it, horrified that he was going to get himself hurt.

Spock tensed, before relaxing with a modicum of strain. "I was behaving illogically. It was...upsetting that you were dismissive of me in my own home."

Jim's heart sped up a bit, suddenly paranoid about what would be considered dismissive. "I'm sorry."

Spock turned, an eyebrow raised at the squeak in Jim's voice, and immediately regretted doing so. "Jim, the fault was my own. My actions were inexcusable. I have not lost control in such a manner in a long time."

Jim furrowed his brow at that, leaning his elbows on the counter to look at him. "What do you mean?"

Spock seemed like he wasn't going to answer for a moment before guiltily turning back to the food he was cooking. "I struck another in my youth. Repeatedly...until various bones in his face were broken."

Jim gaped at his back for a moment. "_That_ constitutes a loss of control?"

Spock glanced back again, both eyebrows raised. "You do not believe this transgression to be egregious?"

Jim snorted, not entirely with humor. "Are you kidding? Regular beatings were a part of my childhood. A good portion of them from my peers."

Spock stared at him, eyes a little wide with surprise. "That is...unusual. Violence is not tolerated here. As such, acts of violence are uncommon and seen as serious breaches of control."

Jim scowled, playing with the almost-fork in his hands. "Sounds like heaven if you ask me."

"Jim..."

Jim looked up and smiled, before Spock could get around to making connections. He watched as once again the act disarmed Spock completely. When he returned to cooking, Jim let the smile fall. Since when did hiding with a pre-warp alien mean it was sharing time for all his drama? What was he doing, getting attached? Was that even what it was?

He pointedly avoided any more topics about his youth as they ate breakfast, but so did Spock so he didn't particularly feel guilty about it. Somehow, though they had a greater deal of words to communicate worth, their conversation was still basic in nature and lagging often. Much of the morning was filled with silence as neither seemed to know what to ask. Somehow, even in light of the immense awkwardness, Jim found himself enjoying the rare treat.

… .. . .. …

"Captain." The woman at communications swiveled around, concern obvious on her face. "They've found out who took the shuttle...You aren't going to like this."

… .. . .. …

Jim groaned, swatting at his hands. Spock yanked them back before he could touch him. For a tense moment they sat there staring at each other. Spock reached for Jim again and Jim hissed, twitching like he was going to slap at him again. It stung, immensely, and the feedback from the sudden sensation was highly distracting.

"You will cease this childish behavior at once." Spock ordered, still inching his hands closer.

"Hands off." Jim ordered, poising his hand to strike.

He swung down and missed, and Spock jerked forward, catching him by the wrist. He pinned both hands somewhere above Jim's head, using his momentum to push him onto his back. Jim made a vain attempt to kick, and was promptly pinned with a leg on either side. Spock allowed him to squirm for a few more minutes before he proceeded to remove Jim's shirt.

"You should have informed me that you removed your bandages at the time of your shower." Spock used the shirt to wrap up Jim's wrists and remove the problem of touching the skin of his hands. "You are bandaged for a reason, Jim."

"I'm fine." Jim declared, slumping against the floor in an effort to make it more difficult. "And I don't know what your showers do to fabric. How was I supposed to know I could leave it on?"

"Why would you be unable to leave your bandages on?" Spock asked, sliding his hand under Jim's spine and lifting him with absolutely no difficulty.

"Because it could damage it? I don't know. They don't stand up to water." Jim shrugged, worming his hands in an attempt to free them.

Spock shifted, jamming a knee between his legs and under him to keep his back up, ignoring the now freed leg flailing next to him. Spock at first used one hand, but had to switch to both to steady Jim and wrap him tight enough. Jim used his now free arms, though still bound together at the hands, in a vain attempt to club him. Spock caught his wrists and looped them over his neck in one swift motion before returning to wrapping his chest.

"This is an awkward position." Jim declared, attempting to lean up enough that he was no longer putting pressure on Spock's neck and could lift his hands back over his head.

Spock was keeping enough downward pressure on his torso, however, that he couldn't. "As this proves necessary only due to your lack of cooperation, the supposed awkwardness of such a position is entirely your doing."

Jim huffed, narrowing his eyes. Fine. If he was going to play that way...Jim arched into his hands, earning a stuttered pause in the bandage wrapping. Spock valiantly ignored him however, so he wrapped his leg around his torso and squeezed. Now he noticed a dusting of green on his cheeks. Grinning, Jim repeated the action, simultaneously pulling himself up as Spock was too distracted to force him to stay down. He was too distracted to realize he could free his hands, though, biting down forcefully on the ear of his space-elf.

Spock jolted to his feet, dropping Jim soundly on the floor. Jim blinked up at him, wondering for a moment when his hands became unhooked, before he started laughing wildly. Spock was wide eyed, eyebrows hidden in his hairline.

"For what purpose did you bite me?" Spock's voice was tinged with alarm, though he pointedly didn't fidget.

Jim shrugged, speaking around a mouthful of fabric as he used his teeth to untie his shirt. "Fuu het ho."

Spock stared at him unblinking and Jim repeated himself without a mouthful, offering his hands when he couldn't untie it himself. Spock hesitated to do so, but knelt down. He made no mention of Jim's tactics to get him to let go.

"You are bandaged now. Surely you will not attempt to remove them?" Spock raised a single eyebrow.

Jim huffed, crossing his arms now that they were free. "I might."

"That is highly illogical."

Jim grinned. "Yeah, well. I guess I'm just illogical."

"Indeed." Spock cocked his head to the side ever so slightly.

Spock eyed him as one would a dangerous animal for a moment until Jim cocked his head to the side and thrust his tongue out between his lips. Pink. Spock found himself caught once again by the oddness of that color. Jim re-situated his shirt and leapt to his feet, eager about something.

"So. Tell me all about your planet."

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**Fear not, their communication problems are not entirely solved. While I would have loved to make them learning each others language a long, drawn out process, I'm not that good a writer, not that familiar with the growth of language and how one would actually go about doing that, and I needed them to have melded. I've got quite a bit more to go here, though.**

**As for the questions I've gotten about their age, patience. I know you want to know but it's actually important.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the lateness. I don't own Star Trek. Enjoy.**

**Oh. You might want to skip this next part directed to the concerns about the discrepancies between canon and my writing.**

**I typically err on the side of what makes more interesting of a story or what sounds better when I write it. So sometimes I write Vulcans with higher blood temperature, sometimes lower. Canon says it's lower. Desert animals like the antelope squirrel, jackrabbit, coyote, and gamble's quail often have higher temperatures and/or are accommodated to hyperthermia in order to better deal with the temperature around them. If you're hotter than the ambient air, you're cooling off. Further, due to the tendency for desert animals to have an abundance of small, shallow veins to allow for better cooling through radiation, their skin temperature can feel particularly high. As for Jim's relative temperature to Spock, human skin can vary from 83 degrees Fahrenheit (28.2 C) to 98 deg F (37.2 C). Sometimes I like using my hard science instead of their soft science. And lets face it, Star Trek isn't the best at keeping even it's own science straight...well, enough of that. Long story short, I _wanted_ his skin hotter for this story, so it is.**

**Now, on to the story.**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

Jim didn't feel all that bad anymore. Specifically, he didn't feel bad about crash landing on this planet. After four hours straight of lecture, which oddly didn't bore him as much as it should have, he had a pretty good idea about the technological capabilities of Vulcans.

He also had an idea of the limitations of what Spock had gotten from him, as it probably would have taken half the time if Spock could actually speak standard. Discussions broke down when Jim had to start providing words and their definitions. That often led to even more descriptions. And pantomime. Seeing Spock using pantomime so seriously was utterly hilarious. Spock didn't understand that either, so Jim was safe to picture him in black and white face paint all he wanted.

That said, he was sure they were only about sixty years from discovering warp...Sooner if a particularly brilliant mind came along. So, within Spock's life time.

Or not...

"How old are you?" Jim interrupted the discussion of the finer mechanics of the sonic shower he had been using.

Spock opened his mouth to reply and seemed stumped. He started counting out the units of time. Jim quickly realized the problem and soon they had a working model of the time discrepancies between the lengths days, months, and years. Jim offhandedly mentioned that he had calculated his age in Earth years once, and found it easier to use Standard. Now somewhat more confident, Spock declared himself to be twenty-one. Jim pouted.

"I do not understand why you are displeased." Spock admitted.

"Why is everyone older than me?" Jim hissed.

Spock was going to make comment on the obvious lack of logic in that statement, Jim could tell by the look on his face, but was beginning to realize it would be an endless and tiresome process. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen." Jim announced somewhat petulantly.

… .. . .. …

Spock was shocked. Not exactly by his age, which looking now seemed somewhat obvious though he had taken it for granted. It was his age in relation to the fact he was there.

"I admit surprise that they employ such youths to explore space." Spock watched Jim's eyes widen. "Or even sanction such an action for individuals."

Jim coughed. "Uh. Yeah. Well...Different strokes, right? Hey, isn't it lunch time? I'm getting peckish."

Spock watched as Jim leapt to his feet and raced off to the kitchen. Much more slowly, he followed him. Jim was diverting. It was frustrating, if Spock were willing to admit such. Jim continued to remain secretive about where he came from, though Spock had hardly given him any reason to believe he couldn't handle such information. He was a scientist. He lived for this, and Jim was continuously denying him opportunity. He was determined to prove to Jim that he could handle this, even if it took him a considerable length of time to convince the other.

Jim was attempting to throw something together when Spock entered the kitchen. He watched distractedly, formulating his plan to convince Jim he was worthy of such immense knowledge. He watched as Jim splashed something on his counter and didn't even consider cleaning it up and took a deep breath through his nose. Perhaps this would be more difficult than he had previously estimated.

… .. . .. …

Shit. It was Jim's word of the day. Maybe curse of the day, because for some reason he felt like hornswoggle was the word of the day. It, being shit not hornswoggle, was the word he was currently chanting over and over in his head. He knew for a fact that if he glanced back at Spock he was going to flip out.

Why did he keep forgetting this guy was smart? The first thing he'd really done was draw a Louis structure. Problem solving was a _thing_ for him. And Jim, handing him the pieces of a puzzle and merrily waving him along towards the solution. He didn't just provide the picture on the front of the box, he was giving him a video of putting it together and was writing numbers on the backs of the pieces.

His only surprise when Spock came up beside him was that it took him that long to decide Jim was going to destroy his kitchen. He quickly vacated the area as Spock took over, not wanting to be close to him as though somehow his very proximity would make it easier to figure him out. A sound theory with most telepaths.

He sat down at the counter, pulling open the drawers to look for his electronics. Spock glanced back at him momentarily before returning to the food. Jim found them and sighed dramatically. He squeaked in alarm seeing his phaser had been turned off stun. Spock looked at him with eyebrow raised as he fumbled with it. Jim gave him a nervous smile and tucked it into the back of his jeans. It wasn't the smartest place for it, but he'd feel better for having it with him than leaving it laying around.

"What is that?"

"Nothing." Jim muttered, sifting through a few of the repair tools. "I was wondering, do you know any way I could work on my ship without being out in the open?"

Spock dropped his spoon and stared at him. Jim creased his brows, wondering at the pure blank look he was receiving.

… .. . .. …

Spock felt his heart skip a beat and forced himself to relax. He could not answer Jim until he was in control again.

He wanted to leave. He needed to repair his ship and then he would be on his way. The thought of him leaving was catastrophically alarming. All at once though, the unbecoming alarm was replaced with excitement. The engines of a real, honest alien ship. No one on his planet had even conceived such advanced technology. To be able to see it, touch it...

"It will be difficult, but if we were to bring it here..." Spock tapped the spoon on the pan as though cleaning it, though he was clearly lost in thought. "It would not fit in the garage, but the garden should provide enough space."

Jim made a scuffling sound to his back, then shut a drawer. "How would we move it? You can't exactly hook it up to your car and drag it behind."

Spock turned off the heat, collecting plates to put the meal on. "I will go to Shi'kahr tomorrow and procure a vehicle for the transport of large plants. Additional plants to my domicile will not be hindering and will provide justification for the use of the vehicle. It should be sufficient to transport your machine."

Jim hummed a bit, smiling when Spock handed him his plate. "Yeah, okay. Just...try to be discreet. And fast. I'm not exactly comfortable being here alone."

Spock nodded, looking him over with a critical eye. "You would not be able to accompany me. Even if we were to cover your hair and no one were to notice your complexion, your eyes would draw unwarranted attention."

Jim blinked. "My eyes? And hair? I mean, my ears are wrong, but my hair?"

Spock was beginning to feel that strange sensation that made him want to hide. "Affirmative. No one on this planet has such a hair color. Your eyes are unlike any shade of blue I have cataloged. You would stand out considerably."

Jim shrugged. "Okay. That's weird. But I guess it makes sense. If this planet is largely a desert biome..."

Spock sat down, staring on his own meal. "I admit, I am curious about the color of your blood."

… .. . .. ...

Jim blinked at him, like he'd just said the sky was purple and Rigellian sea monkeys could fit in your palm. "Oh. Yeah. Different blood. That's weird to you."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "It is not to you?"

Jim stared for a moment. "Uh...yes. Yes it is. Any way..."

Spock narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. "You have mentioned growing up with such things. How may species of alien are there?"

"What?" Jim squeaked. "No. It's nothing. Really. You don't have any animals on your planet with different blood? That's so weird. Ha ha...ha. One question at a time please."

Spock blinked once, hard. "Very well."

Jim bit his lip glancing at his food to consider being able to ignore the conversation. "Um...well, what's your blood made out of? The primary metal in it?"

"Copper." Spock responded swiftly. "Is this relevant?"

"My blood is primarily iron." Jim explained, noting the two eyebrows that shot up in response. "So that would account for the weird color difference. Your blood oxidizes green, mine oxidizes red. And there aren't an abundance of other chemicals in either of ours blood, I'm willing to bet, that would make it look any weirder."

Spock seemed to ponder that for a moment before he began eating. Jim took the silence as his opportunity to drop the subject and start eating. He suspected, though, based on the calculating looks he received, that Spock was trying to decide what questions he could ask, if any.

Jim didn't sleep that night. Though no other discussion had been made on the subject, he couldn't help but worry over what was already said. The more he was able to speak with Spock, the mode he realized he was in over his head. He'd always thought he'd be able to handle a situation like that, but who was he fooling? He couldn't handle a simple flight in one of the easiest to navigate ships in the Federation.

He sighed, pulling out the phaser and amusing himself by flicking it between settings, watching the color change. One alien recluse who told people he'd seen an alien would be considered insane. But an alien who said an alien had shown him the components to interstellar travel? If he could replicate even a tiny bit of one of the things Jim had with him, he was in so much trouble. He'd have to take care of Spock, somehow.

He was in something of a meditative staring match with the wall when Spock opened the door. "I will be departing now. My return should be approximately 4.752 hours from now."

Jim nodded. "Okay. I'll be good."

"Indeed." Spock gave him one last, lingering look and disappeared down the hall.

Jim listened until he heard the sound of the car leaving before exiting the room. Good had variable definitions. He started his search in the study, one of the few rooms he had already been in. None of the writings made any sense, but that was hardly a surprise. Nothing of particular note sat in the office. There were no memos, no pictures, nothing of that nature. Jim pursed his lips, considering that he was missing something.

Gently, he ran his hand on the underside of the desk, checking for anything of import. Nothing taped up, no hidden drawers, nothing.

Undeterred, Jim headed into the living room. Or rather a sitting room, because it hardly looked lived in. There weren't any papers laying about, no marks on any of the furniture, nothing to indicated the room had been used at all except for the clear lack of dust. Jim inspected it anyway and was met with the same lack of hiding places.

There were a surprising number of completely empty rooms. Jim dug through the couple of bathrooms he could find, checking cabinets, water tanks, anything he could open. Nothing. Oh, sure, a few niceties, but nothing significant or attention drawing.

Frustrated, Jim made to open Spock's bedroom door. It politely refused him entry, and immediately he perked up. Maybe there was something worth hiding then. The first few codes he tried did nothing, so Jim decided he was going to have to do this the old fashioned way.

The symbols didn't mean much to him, but he wasn't going to hack it open. No, wires were wires and if he could get to an access panel then he could figure out the configuration and possibly set it for a manual override. He was surprised, though, to find such an efficient system behind the panel.

_'Red wire or blue wire?'_ He thought with amusement as he looked the three wires over. Well, there was nothing for it.

Experimentally, he unplugged two of the wires and watched as nothing happened. Shrugging, he switched the wires. The code panel blinked an odd color at him and Jim smirked. Oh. Pattern games he could do. He was somewhat amused to find that, after a half hour of trying, he finally found the sequence for connections he had to do to override the door. The pneumatic hiss of it releasing was music to his ears.

He pushed the door open, making a mental note to set it back to normal when he was done. The last thing he needed was to be locked in Spock's bedroom when he got back.

This room, unlike the others, was definitely lived in. There was a strange, spicy scent on the air, and Jim spotted a few incense holders around the room. There was a stringed instrument sitting on a chair in one corner, looking almost as though it had never been used, though if the sitting room was any indication, that wasn't true. A few rugs hung from the walls, intricate and showing that strange script again. The bed was perfectly made and a rolled mat was next to it. What caught Jim's attention, though, was the stack of notebooks and the computer on the little table by the bed.

Why were these separate from the others?

Jim flipped one open, deciding he would handle the computer in a moment. More crazy writing, a few pictures. One Jim recognized at the Starfleet insignia and winced. Oops. Flipping through some older ones, he saw blueprints. Jim furrowed his brow, trying to decipher what he saw there. They seemed to be basic engines and such. Others had star charts. Apparently he had an eclectic set of interests.

Jim turned to the computer and frowned. If he had these note books, he wasn't the kind to do much on a computer. Jim knew the type. Jim was the type. He liked being able to hold something in his hand and make honest, physical changes directly to it.

Turning to the bed, he dropped to his knees, and checked underneath. Bingo. He pulled the box from its spot, marveling at the weight to it. The lid was easy to remove and he immediately found more notebooks and an odd looking frame. Touching it lightly, it lit up immediately and started a slide show of pictures. Jim stared down at the stiff, unyielding pictures of a small boy, standing alone in front of a blank background. He watched as the boy aged, something staying the same the entire time.

Jim managed to halt the photo of a young teenager. This one was different. He switched between it and the previous one and it finally clicked. A medical bracelet. Was he sick a lot? He frowned, flipping through further pictures. The bracelet didn't show up any more, though there was one where he was clearly sporting a shiner. Finally, he came upon a picture unlike the others. It was a snapshot of the teen boy, sitting on a medical bed, shirtless, in a laboratory, with an older man taking notes from a monitor.

The boy...Spock, because Jim just knew it was him, looked so guarded in that moment, almost ashamed and hurt and Jim suddenly felt very angry at whoever that man was and who ever thought it was appropriate to take the photo. The next was of both of them staring at the camera person with identical looks. Jim couldn't quite stifle a laugh at how similar it was. The third was a self-photo of sorts. The person who was holding the camera had gathered them together by the bed and included herself in the photo.

There was something strange about her. She wasn't like the other two, not just because she was a girl, or because her hair and ears were covered with a scarf, but she _was_ different. As Jim continued to stared, what he was looking at finally sank in.

There was no denying, the two scientists, the thing that really connected them was the boy sitting between them. Their boy. Jim felt awash with a new anger. His own parents were handling some medical process or another, humiliating and hurting him in the process. What could they have done, to induce such shame and emotion in a boy who tried to feel nothing? Just who were these two persons?

More importantly, a little voice inside his head reminded, why is he in a lab? What was wrong with him?

Jim shook it off, turning brusquely through the remainder of the pictures and finding nothing important. He shut it off and stuffed it carefully back in the box, returning his attention to the notebooks.

What he found when he opened the last of them sent a horrid chill up his spine. He didn't know what he was reading, but he knew exactly what he was looking at. Feeling very cold, he shut the box away and stumbled out of the room. As almost an after thought, he returned the door to how it was supposed to be. Stumbling, he found the exit into the garden.

It was a pretty garden, lush and smelling pleasant and bright. Jim collapsed onto a bench after some aimless wandering and stared blankly ahead, into a wide open area. He shouldn't have been surprised, but seeing it now first hand, he had quite a decision to make. The images in the notebook were shocking, but nothing that he couldn't handle. So Spock was already working out a warp drive. That was okay. The coincidence was amazing, but it was typical Kirk luck.

What he had found that had alarmed him was something he had no way of ever confirming. There, at the very back of the last notebook was a loose letter. He still couldn't understand the writing, but that wasn't what was important. Right next to the signature, a familiar little set of symbols that were clearly foreign to the flowing script.

XOXO.

Jim wasn't alone.

… .. . .. …

Spock was less than pleased upon his return. Not because he found Jim in the garden. That was inconsequential. He was still reacting to the undue scrutiny he had received in Shi'Kahr. Jim stared at him with wide blue eyes when he entered the garden, a knot on his forehead and a trail of green blood running down his temple.

"What happened?" Jim was on his feet, hands hovering around like he wasn't sure how to asses the damage, but didn't want to touch him and cause more pain.

Spock blinked lazily, keeping the throbbing in his head in terse check. "There was a youth who had behaved poorly."

"Poorly? How did a kid do this to you? You...did the kid throw a rock at you?"

"Yes."

Jim narrowed his eyes, grabbing his wrist. "I need to run a tricorder over that. Why would anyone do that? Why did anyone let that happen?"

Spock stared at the place where Jim was touching him, lagging for a moment before he answered. "It is of no consequence, Jim. What is a tricorder?"

"Bullshit." Jim snapped, tugging him sharply through the house into the kitchen. "And don't change the subject. Normal kids don't throw rocks at people. Only asshole children and the children of assholes throw rocks at people. I should know. So what the hell happened?"

Spock was momentarily stunned by the force with witch he spoke before averting his eyes. "It is not the first time, Jim. They are acting on baser emotions."

Jim frowned, holding the device for scanning in his hand. "What? Like hate?"

"And fear." Spock added softly. "They have always feared me, Jim. It is natural."

Jim's look was wholly inscrutable, but immediately Spock felt a sense of understanding and absolute horror in that look. "No. That isn't fair for anyone, Spock. No one should ever have to feel like they are standing alone in the only place they think they can possibly belong."

There was something in that sentiment, that didn't quite translate, yet Spock understood. He understood, because something in those words resonated in such a resounding way, reminding Spock at once of the depths of the mind he had touched. This, at least, more than language, more than simple definitions, Jim had imprinted on him. The need to belong.

When he found Spock had nothing to say, Jim ran the tricorder over his wound, scowling at the screen. "You'll live, but I should get the dermal regenerater on that."

"It is a most fascinating device." Spock admitted, watching as Jim prepped the pen like device he had seen once before, attempting to do something with the tricorder with it. "Due to our ability to use meditative healing trances, we are better able to speed our healing process and have needed only to develop such things as antibiotics and antivirals."

Jim pursed his lips, nodding though he showed little other attention. "Hm. I'm sure Federation doctors would love to talk to you about that."

Spock attempted on briefly to search for what the Federation was in what he had gleaned from Jim, and disappointed to find absolutely no answer. Jim pointed the dermal regenerater at him and Spock felt a sense of anticipation. Jim brushed the thing on, and Spock felt a strange pulling sensation, something warm and comforting and beyond words. Jim removed the device and started to clean up.

Slowly, Spock brought his hand to the wound, and found nothing there. This device, more than just for healing, it removed the pain and left no trace of the surface damage. To think such an amazing, awesome device existed in the universe. And Jim, did he feel such a sensation every time he used it? Was it truly possible to become so accustom to such a sensation as to take it as common place, for granted?

Jim smiled at him, though there was something ridged to this smile. "Well, you need to wash the blood off, but otherwise that's much better."

Spock nodded and retrieved a washcloth to remove the blood. Jim's behavior was sharp and highly invested. He was being highly irrational. While he may not know anything about Spock, and therefor had no reason to fear him, it was unintelligent to simply deem the other party wrong by your association with one party. Jim had put the devices away by the time he finished.

Put away. Spock pondered that. It was as though those alien devices had a place in his home and life, even after such a short time. Jim pulled him from his thoughts by standing abruptly.

"Why don't you show me around the garden?" Jim asked in his usual, light tone.

"Of course." Spock readily agreed. "You may assist me in the placement of my new procurements."

… .. . .. …

Jim learned three very important things on his tour through Spock's garden. There were far more carnivorous plants than he strictly was comfortable with given his track record. The plants on Vulcan were insanely heavy and impossible to move around. And, most importantly, Spock knew far too much about plants. This wasn't too bad, considering Jim was no slouch himself, but somehow he found himself wishing Spock had gotten a little _less_ of the Standard language to work with.

He was exceptionally displeased when Spock began lecturing him on his language as he sat cursing one pointy plant that had decided his backside was a pincushion. It wasn't exactly that it was surprising that Spock got a very good idea of curse words. Anyone who even briefly touched Jim's brain would have been bombarded with them. It was that he seemed to disagree with their use.

Finally, Jim left him to the plants on his own, deciding he didn't give a crap anymore and if he was going to have to stay up he wanted a nap. Finding a pleasant bench, he stretched out, enjoying the slightly warm temperature of the garden. It wasn't as hot as the outside. He'd found that out with a blast of heat from a window earlier. Spock had mentioned something about engineering them for colder environments which was fascinating and all but also meant they wilted pretty easily in the heat.

He was out relatively quickly.

He was almost surprised when a hand gently shook him. Almost, which was good because if he had been surprised he might have lashed out. Spock was kneeling next to the bench, looking at him curiously. It was a bit disconcerting waking up to see someone staring at your face. Jim grinned though, running his fingers through his hair as his jaw cracked with a yawn.

"Sorry." Jim muttered, wiping at his eyes to eliminate the bleariness. "I didn't sleep last night."

"It is of no consequence." Spock told him in that nearly toneless tone that Jim thought was so utterly entertaining. "It is nightfall, Jim. We will eat before leaving."

Jim glanced up and could see the beautiful colors of the setting sun through the glass roof. "Oh wow."

Spock cocked his head to the side, following his gaze. Jim got the feeling he didn't find it quite as spectacular. A stray thought made him smile.

"You'd probably love the sunsets over the ocean in San Francisco."

Spock gave him an inscrutable look before standing and turning to leave the garden. Jim bit his lip as he made to follow, realizing he might have said the entirely wrong thing there. What was he even talking about, bringing a pre-warp alien to _Earth_? When Spock glanced back at him, he was all smiles, ignoring the way his stomach was twisting up in some attempt to make an argument. Jim knew better than to listen to his gut. It usually told him bad things that got him in trouble, no matter how right they seemed.

He definitely got the feeling, over dinner, that he'd made some kind of mistake. It seemed strange to say about an alien that didn't know him at all, but Spock seemed detached. And maybe that was it. The little reminders Jim kept dropping were really driving home the point of just how unnatural Jim was to this planet.

"I must request you wear a hood while we are retrieving the device." Spock told him. "If we are to happen upon anyone you will remain silent and in the vehicle. At no time should you make any attempt to communicate, nor should you attempt to flee.

Jim nodded his understanding, wetting his lips nervously. "Alright. Let's do this."

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**I am so sorry for the lateness. My cat had a return visit to the vet after getting her cast removed and the week has been so hectic. No excuse, I know, but an explanation anyway.**

**Anyway, the story is now starting to progress. Deeper mysteries, more challenges to be explored, and soon, very soon...trouble.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Star Trek.**

**So sorry for the schedule slip. Explanation at the bottom if you care for it, otherwise, enjoy.**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

Jim stood on the edge of the dune, looking down through the darkness. Below his feet was the hard hull of the ship. It had taken an hour, but they cleared most of the sand from on top of it. Now he had hooked the wench to it and they were going to pull it from the pile of sand. It was supposedly strong enough that the remaining sand would fall away.

Jim was thankful that Spock had such a good idea of where it had been, because the dunes had shifted so badly that it looked nothing like it had on the night he fell. Jim glanced around the desert again, pulling his hood lower over his face. He wasn't sure what this feeling was, but he felt incredibly exposed. Something in the pit of his stomach was screaming for him to run away. Far and fast, they needed out of there.

He jumped down, jogging over to Spock. "All good. Lets go."

Spock nodded and in a moment the great wench was creaking and groaning. The sand shifted like water, falling away and sliding off of the invisible metal. It left something of a furrow behind as it scooted forward, a silent behemoth sliding through the sand. The ship came along easily, like it was designed to do. Jim held his breath, his stomach trembling in sympathy with the otherworldly vibrations in the air.

Spock was carefully darting his eyes between the invisible ship and Jim, which was a somewhat useless endeavor, if Jim had been willing to call him on it. Jim didn't want to point out that he couldn't really see anything watching the ship, however, because then he might stare at him and Jim was far too nervous to be stared at.

He worried at his lip as they maneuvered it onto the flatbed and secured it in place. The closer they came to getting it right, the more Jim worried. Something was eating him. And, when he looked at Spock, he could see he wasn't the only one.

Back in the truck, Jim rubbed his hands together anxiously and gave a fluttering half-smile to Spock. "Let's get out of here."

"Indeed." Spock needed no further bidding, racing back as quickly as he could with all the caution he deemed necessary.

… .. . .. …

Jim was a curious presence in the seat next to him. It seemed as though the air around him vibrated with some emotion, more tangible than should be at all possible. For a moment, Spock wished to touch him, to confirm that this air around him was filled with some projection of what he was feeling, that he wasn't slowly being driven mad by this all.

That thought left a strange feeling, dark and twisted and ugly deep in Spock's stomach and the back of his throat. Was this all perhaps madness? Had he not heard of some Vulcans loosing their control and their mind slipping from them, losing any sign of sanity? Could it not be that his deficiencies had caused a break, at last, and the whole of this encounter was nothing more than his mind seeking some comfort?

Jim glanced sideways, that soft, not at all reassuring smile on firm pink lips. Spock repressed a shudder. Surely even he was not that imaginative. And if he were...if Jim were something he had dreamed into life...created in a mental world that did not exist...did he want him to leave?

Spock immediately pushed aside the thought. This line of thinking was fruitless. He had no proof that his reality had been strained. To consider such without any proof was illogical. He would continue on his current path and, should anything provide need for scrutiny, he would do so.

Now, he had far more important things which he must consider. For example, he must now go about convincing Jim to allow his assistance on such a marvelous device. This, he thought somewhat ruefully, though he would not admit to such a feeling, would be considerably easier if Jim were indeed a construct of his mind.

Jim continued to strum with strange energy until the ship was safely locked away. Even then his movements were tense and abrupt. He muttered something about a shower, and Spock understood that this night they were not to do any work. Even so, he sat awake in his room for a long hour until he heard the shower turn off and Jim clearly entered his room. It didn't strike him as strange, that he had at sometime come to allow Jim to wander as he pleased.

Even with considerable meditation, he could not sleep, however, until he looked in on Jim once. He was sprawled easily over the pillow bed, his hair in disarray and water seeping from the corner of his mouth. A soft sound rose up from his strangely contorted position, and in all he appeared to be content and soundly asleep.

The picture caused a warm, glowing feeling around his heart.

He left, confused and disturbed by this new sensation. It was unlike anything he had experienced before. This, perhaps, was one of the largest signs that something was not as it seemed it should be. He shut himself away in his room and quickly retrieved the box from under his bed. There was much he needed to consider.

… .. . .. …

Jim had been too damn nervous to sleep. He kept snapping awake and jerking up, adrenaline racing through his body. Sure, he'd gotten used to that kind of thing a long time ago, so the few half-hours in between were actually useful, but it didn't mean he had gotten a full night's sleep. He wasn't really sure why he was having such problems when he'd slept so well the first night.

Though maybe the adrenalin had numbed the pain then and now he was just having issues because he honestly didn't know where to start.

Jim liked to think he was a jack-of-all trades. He'd spent a lot of time looking into things like computer science, medicine, enough mechanics to theoretically hot wire...oh, say, a space ship...But repairing one? Not quite as easy. Not easy at all. In fact, it was an entirely different set of skills from hot wiring. The little bit of knowledge he had of that field was less than likely to be helpful.

He ended up sitting up in the living room with a piece of paper, trying to draw from memory the few schematics he could place. He couldn't find a PAAD in the items Spock had found, which means he didn't have the blueprints or the repair-manual or the back-up programs. More and more this was beginning to look like a dauntless task.

Jim sighed, staring down at the rough and half-formed sketches of the engine. He wasn't going to be able to do this on his own. _That_ frightened him. Not that Spock would learn about warp engines. As little as he liked sharing, something told him he could trust Spock. Trust wasn't something he came by easily, so the little bit he was afforded, he wanted to believe in desperately.

What frightened him was the knowledge that Spock would realize he had no idea what he was doing. Sure, he could brush it away at first. Insist that there were normally people who's job it was to do this. And it wouldn't be a lie. But eventually things would add up, or rather, they wouldn't, and it would be obvious that two plus two did not a Starfleet officer make. Not that he knew only officers were supposed to have access to individual ships capable of warp, but that was really not important at the moment.

Jim groaned, resting his face in his hands. Well, there was no helping it. He didn't know how early it was, but he was never one to let someone else take control of situations. Not in a very long time.

He banged his fist resolutely on Spock's door, his stomach fluttering. It was, he told himself, less terrifying than asking Janice Lester to the homecoming dance. Probably would end up with less bloodshed, too. Telling and convincing were two entirely different things, however.

The door opened after just a few seconds, a fact that surprised Jim immensely. Had he even been asleep? He was dressed in a loose pair of pants and had apparently hastily pulled a dressing robe on over top. His chest was heaving slightly as though he had somehow been exerting himself, or perhaps was just shocked. It was, Jim couldn't help but notice, a very nice chest, with a lean, dramatic V shape. Being somewhat barrel-chested himself, Jim could appreciate the silhouette.

He was brought out of his odd and somewhat disconcertingly long appreciation by Spock pulling his robe shut and cocking an eyebrow at him. Jim blushed furiously.

"I couldn't sleep." And it was only after he said it that he realized how utterly stupid it sounded.

Spock didn't seem to find it stupid, though, as he stepped aside and gestured for Jim to enter his room. "If you need a companion then I will oblige you."

Jim wasn't winning against the dull blush of his cheeks, but he managed not to have a stupid look on his face. "I guess I just need worn out."

Was that statement supposed to be helping? Because Jim realized just how...off that sounded after he said it. Had all that work short-circuited his brain? What was he even saying? He noticed the mat had been rolled out on the floor and the almost indiscernible scent of something bitter and spicy. Oh. So he had been awake.

Jim politely glanced around the room, noting that a few of the notebooks had been put away, but nothing else. Not that Spock needed to know that.

"Am I interrupting?" Jim mumbled sheepishly.

"It is of no consequence." Spock assured, gesturing towards his desk and bed. "You may have a seat if you wish."

Jim smiled, but didn't really make to move. "This is weird, isn't it? Neither of us know a thing about each other. We just have this weird agreement not to pry or to talk about it. Well, I guess I'm breaking that right now."

Spock's eyes darted across his face, and Jim knew he was searching for some kind of hint as to what was happening. "Perhaps it is unusual to be trusting of an individual one hardly knows."

Jim nodded. "Okay. So you agree with me. I need to know I can trust you, Spock."

"I do not know how to convince you of my trustworthiness, Jim." Spock confessed, the only sign of an emotion the slight wrinkle between his brows.

"Say fuck." Jim ordered.

Spock drew back in surprise, a light green coloring his ears. "I will not use vulgarities, Jim."

Jim rolled his eyes, of course he would understand that word but not 'giddy-up'. "I need to know that you'll do exactly as I tell you without asking any questions, Spock. I can't always explain things but if you can't listen to me, if you can't trust that I know what I'm doing..."

Spock cocked his head to the side, considering this a moment. "I am unsure how my repetition of such a word would assure you of this."

"Trust me." Jim beamed.

… .. . .. …

It seemed, rather paradoxically, like he should strike Jim for his statement. He didn't know why, but it seemed to be the look on Jim's face that was inducing such a reaction in him. He would not, however, do so.

"Fuck." The word was heavy and hard in his mouth, like a polished, round stone clacking against his teeth and yet as he opened his mouth it slid across his tongue, tumbling forth with a smooth inflection that seemed impossible for such a tar-stained word.

Jim's eyes lit up though, that bright blue glowing shade, highlighted by his dust-red cheeks. And that look made Jim appear so young, earnest and excited. And Spock realized he'd say it an uncountable number of times, just to replicate that look, no matter how little he approved of such language. He'd do anything Jim asked.

Though Jim had asked him to say the word to ascertain just such a thing, though he had done so to prove just that, though he had known logically that he would do what was asked of him, genuinely confronting the idea, and being unable, even for a moment, to find an end to his willingness was a whole unusual, even alarming sensation. He'd never been in a situation where he would _blindly_ follow every order given. Yet he knew that he would not ask a word of explanation, not mull over what was required of him. If he saw a better way, he would present it, but everything he would do would be for Jim.

If he was honest and willing to admit to such things as emotions, it scared him. Genuine fear, like he had experienced only in such rare and small amounts as to make it almost unidentifiable.

"Will that suffice?" Spock realized a second too late that his voice was oddly hoarse, specking before he could control the unexpected change.

"Yeah." Jim nodded, sounding breathless. "It's...perfect."

"What would you like me to do, Jim?"

Jim bit his lip, cheeks coloring darker, eyes dilating. "Help me."

"How?" Spock cocked his head to the side.

Jim grinned at him, and he felt hot, like he'd been standing in the Vulcan forge with the sun beating down on his bare skin.

… .. . .. …

This felt so right. Jim grabbed Spock's wrist and pulled him out of the room without a second thought. Spock stumbled after him, long legs awkward in comparison to Jim and his strides barely compensation for the flat run Jim loped forward with.

He didn't break his run until he hit the doors for the garden. At this, he turned back to Spock, catching both of his hands and walking backwards through the door. Those big brown eyes widened and Jim crossed his arms behind his back, effectively pulling Spock a few inches from him.

"If you're going to do this with me, you have to be willing to do all of this." Jim told him. "You may learn somethings that will be difficult to grasp or accept. If you can't handle that, I need to know now. I need to know that you'll be there the entire time if you're there at all. I can't...I can't let myself rely on someone who's going to leave me."

Jim glanced down, thoughts drifting immediately to Sam, before he shook his head, looking up in earnest at Spock. Spock's fingers clenched against his, sending a strange shock through Jim.

"I will be with you as long as you will allow me."

"Good." Jim disentangled their finger reluctantly, well aware of the understatement involved in those words.

Spock's breath seemed to skip for a moment, but he leaned back, flexing his hands as he placed them behind his back. Jim turned around, heading into the garden and jogging chipperly to where he knew the ship was. He could hear the even sound of Spock walking behind him and it made his heart race. Something was happening between them that he was ill equipped to define. Something he didn't really want to think about when he was trying so hard to just do it one day at a time.

He slapped the side of the ship, instinctually finding the handholds and hauling himself up into the cockpit. With a few quick flicks across the screen he deactivated the cloaking. He flopped backwards, and was unsurprised to find Spock's hands on his hips, helping him down.

On the ground, Jim swiveled around, leaning back against the ship. "Let's do this."

… .. . .. …

"Captain!" The man at the helm sprang up, leaning over his station in excitement. "You aren't going to believe this!"

"What is it?" The Captain asked in a subdued amusement at the young man's enthusiasm.

"The ship just showed up. He removed the cloaking." He answered, looking back over his shoulder in amazement. "We know where he is now!"

The captain leaned forward, tapping his hand on his knee. "Hold the ship just out of orbit, for now. If we decide to go down, we're doing it with transporter equipped shuttles. We want as little chance of being detected as possible. We need to wait on one last decision. It's still possible that the natives have found it. We have to proceed with caution."

"Yes sir." The bridge agreed.

… .. . .. …

Jim spread several of his drawings out, chewing at his lip as he did so. Spock leaned over his shoulder, staring openly at the designs. They were incomplete, but amazingly detailed. Spock couldn't help but be amazed by the level attention in the sketches.

"Okay...The computer was damaged so I can't pull up any blueprints." Jim tapped his chin. "Actually, now that I think about it, they weren't on the computer. Safety measure."

Spock nodded. "You are familiar with the ship though?"

Jim smiled sheepishly. "A little."

Spock furrowed his brow. "I am curious as to why this is the case."

Jim avoided eye contact. "It's an experimental ship. Took a team of one hundred of the best scientific minds we have to build her. She was supposed to be on a routine test flight, pending deployment to our flagship, but clearly there are some kinks to work out."

Spock was momentarily flooded with information, trying to understand what Jim was telling him. The only thing that really caught what the sheer number of scientists that had worked on the ship.

"Do you believe we will be capable of fixing it?"

Jim smirked, though it seemed perhaps a bit strained. "Sure we can. Most of the important bits are intact. If we fix the structural damage and replace the few integral parts of the engine that had a catastrophic failure, it shouldn't be a problem. It's dangerous, of course, having to hand calibrate everything and program in the minutia, rather than letting the computer do it, but it can be done. So I guess we don't need to fix the computer if we can't repair it."

"Jim." Spock gently touched his shoulder. "You are speaking quicker than I am capable of following you."

Jim nodded. "Sorry. It doesn't matter. We can do it."

"Very well." Spock nodded, drawing his hand back. "Where do we begin?"

Jim turned back to the ship and started formulating a plan of attack, really assessing the damage done. Spock glanced down at his hand. He was indulging himself in a closeness that Jim had not consented to. Surely, with all such other differences, he could not be expected to understand the complexities of Vulcan society. And though he knew he was a touch telepath, he did not know of the considered intimacies of such touches.

Though Spock had never experienced anything of such a nature to base it off of, he knew well that he was not allowed to behave in such a way. His father had always stressed that he was never to touch another being unless absolutely necessary, let alone to have contact with their hands. And touching their minds...no, he was certainly indulging in a dangerous closeness with Jim.

Sam.

Spock did not know who this was. It was a name not of his world. A name of Jim's past. A name he associated so deeply with pain, betrayal and sorrow that Spock could not have avoided the knowledge of it had he known to try. Spock felt Jim's pain as his own and with it a burning anger at who ever could make Jim experience such pain. It was not his place, however, to probe into Jim's past. He could only hope to offer Jim a place of refuge where he need no-longer worry about such as was his past.

He set his musings aside for the time. Jim needed his help. The ship, the more he looked at it, appeared to be in worse shape than he had originally assumed. Even without Jim's sketches, it was obvious under inspection that a considerable amount of the structure had been twisted and otherwise made nearly unusable. Wires had been severed and control panels had cracked from heat damage.

It had clearly undergone some kind of catastrophic failure.

"Was all of this damage incurred in the crash?" Spock asked, helping to remove the loose pieces and pile them according to what they were made of.

"No. The main computer overloaded and sent sparks everywhere and when it exploded, see the hole in the screen? The ship dropped out of warp and I lost control completely. Then, see the scorch mark on the edge of this panel? The impulse engines had a catastrophic failure. That's what brought it down." Jim gestured along as he spoke. "The ship shook itself apart on entry and then the damage was made worse at the crash."

"I see. It would appear that something was not put together correctly." Spock assessed what he had to work with. "If it is at all possible, we may be able to ascertain where it initially failed and correct this."

"That would be nice." Jim nodded absently. "It'd always be good to take it back into space in a working condition."

Spock returned to the ship, familiarizing himself with what details he could garner from viewing. He didn't want to think about Jim going back into space. Because then he would have to think about Jim going without him, leaving him there on the planet. And nothing would change for him, except that he would _know_ Jim was out there somewhere, just beyond his reach.

"I am curious as to your field of specialty." Spock murmured.

… .. . .. …

Jim didn't curse, but he desperately wanted to. "Mostly computer programing. A little engineering. Nothing catastrophic was supposed to happen. And I've got pilot training."

That wasn't entirely untrue. Simulator games were basically the exact same thing as training sims, only with more explosions. So really, he'd logged more than five thousand flight hours down at the arcade. And he'd done well enough with the ship to get as far as a computer error before he had any problems. Though maybe taking a prototype shouldn't have been his first inclination, given how it was untested and high profile.

"As it is unlikely you have seen the full schematics of the ship, this will be difficult work." Spock said almost absently.

"Yeah." Jim admitted with a grimace. "Who knows how long this will take."

Spock glanced sharply at him, as if just pulled back from his introspective thoughts. "It is difficult to make an estimate."

Jim tired a warm smile, because the way he was looking at him was disconcerting. "How about breakfast first? And...uh...clothes."

Spock glanced down at himself, realizing he was still in his nightclothes with a faint green blush. Jim liked getting that reaction out of him, given how often he seemed prone to complete stoicism. Even the little emotions he showed seemed so restrained, and Jim was never a fan of restraints.

He barely resisted the urge to catch Spock's hand as he passed. It wasn't like him to need someone to hold his hand...but then, he'd never really had someone there willing to do so, metaphorically or otherwise. He'd always walked on his own, kept his nose clean and didn't ask for help. Well, until he came to the conclusion that, if he was going to be treated the same either way, then why not live up to their expectations. So, not exactly a good boy, not in...god, was it really almost seven years? But by that point he had stopped expecting someone to hold his hand and guide him.

And he'd stopped hoping for someone to offer him their hand in companionship. So taking such a thing from Spock was wrong on so many levels, not least of all because it wasn't the same as having it offered.

And, Jim recalled somewhat bitterly, he was a touch telepath. One who's limitations Jim didn't know. If the weirdness that had happened before was an indication, then he needed to actively try to access any real information. But what did that mean for just simple touches? What could he do, beyond just tapping into someone's language center? How dangerous was he?

Jim didn't have any answers for that. He didn't know how to go about asking without being intrusive. Even now he was toeing along a fine line, hoping not to offend him too soon, lest he be trapped there, or worse. Not that he wanted to upset Spock, but Jim wasn't so naive as to think he would stay on his good side. He had this way about him of eventually pissing off everyone he spent time around.

Did it count as a betrayal, though, on Spock's part, if Jim lied first? It wasn't like it was fair to hold him accountable for Jim's shortcomings. Jim wanted to think that he'd understand, when Spock eventually gave up on him and things went south. He was prepared for it. And though he needed his help, it wasn't the same as relying on someone. It would have to end eventually, because Spock would end it. Jim could only string him along with so many promises and vague statements.

And that would be fine. Jim didn't need him with him. He wasn't going to be heartbroken over cutting ties and it wasn't going to hurt him. He wasn't going to get close, because he already knew what was going to happen. So he wasn't going to take Spock's hand. And if he wasn't holding Spock's hand, it wouldn't hurt to have it yanked away.

Jim tucked his hands into his pockets and followed Spock out into the living area. Breakfast, then work, then...well...he'd work that out when he got there.

… .. . .. …

Spock was mildly curious to find Jim asleep on the couch when he returned, dressed. He recalled, however, that Jim had been unable to sleep, and apparently required more sleep than a Vulcan. Gently, he brushed the hair from Jim's forehead, watching him draw his brows together in his sleep. Jim was keeping something from him, not least of all the level of mistrust he was nursing. Spock would prove to him that he was worthy of staying at his side and then perhaps...

Later.

He would work that out when he was closer to the desired outcome. For now, though, he had work to do. Starting with making breakfast before Jim woke. He'd let him rest as much as possible. They had a lot of work ahead of them.

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**I can not apologize enough for how late this is. I shattered two of the metacarpal bones in my hand and had to undergo surgery for it. To make things better, it was my dominant hand. So I've been a bit out of it, to say the least. I'm fine, mind you, but it was a distraction. I'm not going to guarantee that I'll have the next chapter up by next week, but I'm going to try. I won't let this story fall off completely to the wayside.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Star Trek.**

**Funny thing...I'd just written the very first few paragraphs of this chapter before I broke my hand...**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

"Ow. Ow. Ow." Jim whimpered, cradling his hand to his chest.

"Allow me to inspect the damage." Spock ordered.

Jim blew on his hand, keeping it cradled to his chest. He'd crushed it when a panel decided it was still functioning automatically in spite of the ship being turned off. There was blood, which Jim really didn't want Spock to see. He needed a dermal regenerator and to set the bones, but he needed Spock not to freak out at the copious amounts of red blood.

"Please go get my dermal regenerator." Jim hissed through gritted teeth.

"Let me inspect the damage, Jim."

"I know the damage." Jim ground out. "Get the regenerator."

"I can-"

"Trust me." Jim ordered.

Spock's nostrils flared. "Very well."

Jim watched until he left before clenching his teeth and setting the bones. He whimpered ever so slightly, but he couldn't cry out, or Spock would realize something was wrong. He'd been careless, forgetting to turn off the auxiliary power. He was lucky he'd been the one to be hurt. If something had happened to Spock...well, the thought made him nauseous.

Spock returned shortly with more than just the dermal regenerator. Jim grinned sheepishly upon seeing the med-kit. He was still bleeding, though, so he was trying to decide how to take the regenerator without exposing all that blood.

"Will you allow me to assist you, Jim?" Spock asked patiently, coming to kneel in front of him.

Jim shook his head. "There is a lot of blood." The 'And I don't want you freaking out' was not said out loud.

"I am aware of this." Spock told him patiently. "You are losing a considerable amount of blood. It would be more beneficial if you allowed me to assist."

Jim bit his lip, glancing furtively down at his hand. "I don't want you to see all the blood. It isn't that bad. I can do it myself."

"You do not need to." Spock paused only a moment. "Jim, if your hesitation is due to concern over my reaction to the color of your blood, you have no need. I am well aware that you are an alien creature."

Jim blushed, offering his hand hesitantly. It was awfully mangled, with a great swath of skin loose and clearly ripped muscle. There were a few bone shards from where it broke. The problem, really had been not just leaving his hand there to remove the panel. He'd panicked, having seen those things crush straight through, and jerked his hand. So he ended up with a broken bone, a few loose shards, and a considerable amount of ripping of the skin to get it free.

Spock didn't react in the slightest to seeing this, or the red blood pouring onto the gray pants he had lent Jim. He simply turned the regenerator on and pushed the edges of Jim's wound together. Jim assisted where he could, but his hand mostly got in the way. He wasn't sure how long it took, but judging by the damage it was probably a good twenty minutes before it was passable.

"Too much more and it'll do more damage than good." Jim told him, cradling the now significantly better hand to his chest. "But I'll need to wrap it to keep anything out of it."

"I see." Spock quickly retrieved bandaging material. "Your regenerator is not capable of healing bones?"

Jim smirked. "There are some, but they aren't hand-held. They take a considerable amount of effort and can do a lot of damage if they are used improperly. Besides, the bones are easy enough to set."

"Have they remained set through the healing process?"

Jim swore softly, squeezing his eyes shut. "Was it that obvious?"

"Jim, your hand was crushed by a swiftly moving mechanical device." Spock raised an eyebrow. "It is highly likely that a fracture occurred. Further, you removed bone debris from your hand before I repaired it."

Jim sighed. "Yeah. I guess I was pretty obvious about it."

"That should suffice." Spock withdrew his hand, looking at the bandage work. "I am capable of alleviating the pain you are feeling if you desire my assistance."

Jim narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "How?"

"It is similar to a technique healers show students who are still learning to control their telepathy." Spock said, falling into something Jim recognized as lecture mode from all of the instructors he'd had ever. "As you are not a telepath, you would not learn from it, but I would be capable of temporarily blocking the pain receptors associated with your hand."

Jim scowled. "So you'd have to go in my head again?"

Spock seemed taken aback a moment, before directing his gaze towards Jim's ear. "Yes. However, you would be directing the interaction. If you were to focus on the damage to your hand, I would be able to initiate the most superficial of melds to relieve you of your pain."

Jim pursed his lips, considering that. It hurt. A lot. The only reason he wasn't in a little ball crying was because there was too much adrenaline in his system just yet. He knew for a fact that a wound like that would leave an adrenaline high for about ten more minutes before utter agony set in. His hand was also probably going to have a long and unsightly scar, but you worked with what you got.

And at the moment he had a friendly telepath offering to block some of his pain. There was a risk that he would use the opportunity to dig through his brain, but if he wanted to do that, he didn't need to ask permission. If he was willing to use false pretense, he was probably willing to just force himself in there. Not that Jim's brain was a pleasant place to be. No, he was well aware of how screwed up his head was.

"Okay." Jim agreed. "But don't wander. It's a scary place up there."

"Indeed."

Jim wasn't sure just what he meant by that, but there was a bit too much inflection for it to be a sarcastic agreement. Spock said he had not gathered anything else from their brief mental affair, but at the time he had been having difficulty with his situation. Maybe he went back and looked into the info download and found more than he'd thought.

"It is advisable that you concentrate on your wound." Spock told him, hand hovering in front of his face.

Jim nodded, and struck his hand hard on the floor. He gasped with pain, and saw Spock's eyes widen before he was plunged into something not dissimilar to the first time Spock had touched his mind, though nowhere near as intense. There was direction to this. The pain seemed to go on forever, each second worse than the last, and time was non-linear, compounding in a strange crescendo that threatened to break any awareness he had of anything but pain. And then it stopped. Or rather, he stopped caring about the pain, though it was still there. It seemed, abstract, inconsequential. And then, with that, it dulled and dissipated.

For a second longer he was left with the feeling of being embraced, and he had never really known the feel of someone's arms around him, nor in his arms, yet that feeling was all he had imagined and more. He politely neglected to recall the instances where Spock had had his arms around him, though it was distinctly different.

Spock withdrew quickly, leaving Jim momentarily lost somewhere between the feeling in the meld and the awareness outside of it. Jim inspected his hand, acting as though he were not still a little high from the contact. Spock was staring at his hand.

"Something wrong?" Jim asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No." Spock answered somewhat distractedly. "I am contemplating the unusual telepathic ease in accessing your mind."

… .. . .. …

Perhaps it was not Jim's mind, in and of itself. Spock had only ever melded with his father and it was a strictly uncomfortable and incredibly resistant. Jim, however, seemed fully receptive to his telepathy. There was the possibility that, as Jim was not a telepath, he lacked mental shielding. There was also the possibility that his father intentionally made their melds as difficult as possible.

Jim narrowed his eyes. "What did we say about poking around?"

"I have not accessed any parts of your mind you did not give me permission to." Spock informed him in a clipped tone. "It simply takes less time than I had perceived to be normal. As I have not experienced telepathic contact with a significant sample size, I am unable to speculate on as to why this is."

"Oh." Jim shrugged, his nose scrunching awkwardly. "Uh...thanks. We should get back to work."

"Very well."

Jim kept his hand close to him as he worked, though it hardly slowed him down. Spock found it commendable that he did not allow his injury to impede him. They worked with minimal interruptions, taking lunch with the ship. Jim made considerable efforts to keep track of where the pieces came from and keep them together. Slowly, but surely, the floor of Spock's garden was being covered with little pieces of amazing technology.

"Jim, you should shower and retire for the night." Spock instructed as Jim continued pouring over his notes.

"Just a second." Jim insisted.

"It is considerably late, Jim." Spock scolded. "We will continue in the morning."

Jim groaned, pushing himself up and inspecting the general filth he was covered in. "Yeah. Okay."

If Jim was experiencing pain from his hand, he didn't show many signs of it. Spock found this highly strange, but didn't know where to begin approaching the matter. Further observation was in order.

… .. . .. …

The days started to blend together as they fell into something of a routine. The ship came apart under their hands, laying bare all the damage it sustained. Some days, they recuperated. Spock made an effort to teach Jim Vulcan. Jim made an effort not to talk about Earth.

At some point, Spock offered Jim the use of his computer. With some effort, considerable translations, and numerous tries, Jim succeeded in connecting to the ship computer. He was stunned, to see just how well the little home computer kept up. A few more mistakes, and he has an Earth OS operating on the computer. He hesitated to think he might have to destroy the computer in light of that.

Spock took considerable interest in the program and Jim eventually relented, allowing him to assist in riffling through the programing to find out what went wrong. Spock was amazed at how easily he ran through computer programs, how his fingers flew over the unfamiliar computer. He was a natural in a way Spock found difficult to describe.

It was during one such session, having found a way to repair a few of the wires that Jim was scouring through the program again. Until Spock could go into Shi'Kahr to get the items he needed, they would have to wait. However, with the possibility of the computer working, Jim wanted to see if he could retrieve any of the control program.

Spock was looking over Jim's blueprints, sitting approximately an arms length away. He had not considered how incredibly late it was until Jim slumped over. Specifically, he slumped against him. Spock stiffened, staring at him with little clue as to what to do.

His heart was racing, a strange aching in the pit of his stomach. He felt the uncontrollable and pervasive need to do _something_ with his lips. He pursed them together tightly and, when he found that was not enough, whetted them. It was a thing he had seen Jim do often and now he understood why. It alleviated some of the need to take action, which was fortuitous considering he did not know what action he wished to take.

Jim was heavy against his side.

Spock carefully removed his laptop, placing it on the table and half-shutting it. Jim nearly slipped from the action, and Spock wrapped an arm around him to prevent just that occurrence. Jim nestled comfortably against his side. That feeling, like he desperately wanted to hide, or pace uncomfortably, or _something_ returned and Spock took three deep breaths through his nose to calm himself.

He shifted his position, rocking Jim against him as he tucked his hand under Jim's knees so that his head rested on his shoulder. Jim groaned and squirmed in his sleep, not enough to compromise Spock's hold on him, but considerably all the same.

It was inevitable that Jim would be up again soon. However, it would be preferable for Jim to spend what little time he had for rest in a comfortable place. They could resume their work when he woke. This led to a moment of consideration, as Spock was aware from previous occurrences that Jim would not leave his room when he woke if he though Spock had retired for the night.

With some discomfort, Spock entered his room and placed Jim on his bed. He considered moving the covers over him, before deciding the room was warm enough to accommodate Jim. He disappeared momentarily into the bathroom to change into his pants for meditation. He had, after that first occurrence, been somewhat reluctant to be in any state of undress in front of Jim.

This discomfort lessened over time as Jim seemed not to display censure at such a state. He had, on numerous occasion, removed pieces of his own attire to facilitate his work on the ship. Spock did not mention his illogical displeasure with the exposure Jim enjoyed. It was apparently an acceptable practice in Jim's culture, one Spock wished to show acceptance of.

If he could not do such, then Jim would believe he was incapable of interacting with other such aliens. Jim had on occasion let slip the fact that normally one was not to have discourse with an alien species not capable of interstellar flight. It was hinted that this was because they were not capable of handling such a revelation, nor to be allowed to stumble upon less than friendly travelers. If Spock was to convince him he was capable of such interactions, then perhaps...

Jim was still sleeping when he returned, though kicking up a considerable fuss. Spock estimated approximately fifteen minutes of meditation before Jim woke and another five before he made any attempt to rouse him.

His meditation often turned to Jim, now. He found it difficult to think of much else. Objectively, he was aware he was falling behind in his studies, though the knowledge Jim provided seemed to far outweigh any lessons he might gain from the Vulcan science academy.

Vulcan. Suddenly that word seemed so much more indicative than before. It was an idea, a frame of mind, a narrowed existence that seemed too constricting for him. Rather suddenly, it seemed to expose to him _more_. More that he could be. More that he could see. More that he was. Deep, in the same place that pulled when Jim gave him a halting, shy smile and laid his hand gently over his covered forearm for the slightest, something more pulled at him. Something urging him to explore.

He though about Jim's manners, the little things that seemed strangely familiar. Spock attributed it to his oft-considered encounter with Jim's mind. There were moments, flashes or recognition and an understanding not born of his mind. And yet still others seemed unlike this alien information, but rather a recollection made before his memories could be more than a vague impression.

That was significantly more interesting to research than the flashes, as curious as they were. He found it difficult, however, to remain focused on any such inquiries into his mind whenever they required any lengthy consideration on Jim's behavior or anything that might provide a reminder there of.

He could just barely register, on the edge of his conscious, the sensation of Jim waking.

… .. . .. …

Jim was aware, as he regained conscious, that Spock had moved him. It had happened a couple of times. He'd even come to terms with the general smell he'd come to associate with Spock permeating everything. He'd had another dream.

It seemed like a stupid statement, considering most people dream, even if they can't remember them.

But there was something to these dreams. He was used to running in his dreams. All he ever did was run. And yet somehow it seemed different this time. It seemed like he was trying to get somewhere. Like he wasn't just running away anymore, but he had a destination. Like somewhere, something was waiting for him, reaching out to draw him forward. Like if he could get there he could stop running, maybe even turn around and face down his demons.

And he'd always get this sense of dread, as he ran, like he was going to be too late, or whatever was chasing him would catch up before he could reach his destination. And his stomach would sink and his feet would feel heavy and he'd feel tears well up in his eyes and blind him and he could barely breath and this time he didn't turn, he just ran to the edge. He'd always leap from the precipice, and would wake, still feeling stuck there.

He wanted to know, if he would fall or fly, but the fear was immense. What if he _did_ fall? Would the running stop? Would anyone catch him, or even care? And what was at the bottom? What would he see looking up? What _was_ the edge he was jumping off, anyway?

He couldn't figure it out, why he felt like he was about to do something huge. He'd _done_ something huge when he ran away from home and stole a prototype starship. He'd done something huge when he decided, at ten, that he was done being good and just letting things happen to him. So what was so important about trying to put a ship back together? Why did it feel like his dreams were telling him something.

There was a thought, Jim kept at the very back of his mind, trying not to entertain. It was a sick thought, put there by too much reading, too much knowledge. He firmly told it that it was wrong, and refused to revisit it. But wasn't that a part of it?

Fantasy coping. Was it possible that he'd finally snapped? Had too much and was hiding permanently in a disassociated world of his own creation? He'd heard about it, about kids who came up with crazy reasons for their injuries and who fantasized vividly about escaping their reality, to the point where they couldn't always tell when their episodes weren't real.

No. He firmly reminded himself that he had never had the early stages of that. Physical avoidance, yes. He got the hell out of there. And he was quick to ask people if he had angered them, quick to apologize and to get away when the warning signs were there. So what if that branded him as weird, to all the others, he was alive because of those instincts. But he never day dreamed.

Fully awake now, Jim sat up, rubbing at his head. He didn't want to think about that.

Spock was sitting cross legged on the floor, focused on his meditation. Jim wondered what he meditated about. He'd been incredibly unhelpful, the few times they had discussed it, growing frustrated, though he denied any such emotion, when Jim didn't understand. He knew Spock needed a considerable amount of meditation, and a fair amount of sleep, for that matter, but was pushing it aside to help Jim. Jim had never really had someone he could rely on like that.

That was probably what scared him most. He honestly trusted Spock. Beyond all other arguments, that was the best proof that this was all in his head. It wasn't like there was really anyone out there, who had his best interests in mind. Jim knew, this wasn't about him, this was about his ship. This was about how he could use Jim to get what he wanted. It always was.

He waited a while longer, watching Spock meditate and just generally observing his surroundings. It never ceased to amaze him that Spock could live with virtually no personal items. It was less like a place to live in, and more like a placed he had to live.

He was a captive, rather than a tenant.

Jim got that feeling, occasionally, when Spock discussed the little bits of his personal life Jim could draw out. More and more he felt guilty for effectively forcing Spock into the same life he'd been living. Do as I ask, with no questions. Jim was beginning to realize he was no better for it than the scientists that contributed DNA to Spock. And wasn't that the interesting little revelation.

It had taken quite a bit of work, but Jim wormed out of him the fact that Spock had been a genetic experiment. Spock wouldn't explain what they were trying to do, or even what they accomplished, but that did explain why people apparently didn't like him, even going so far as to fear him. Jim sort-of wished that Vulcan had been found before Spock was born. Genetic testing like that was banned in the Federation.

But then, Spock wouldn't exist, and for some reason Jim found himself feeling very selfish and believing it was okay Spock had a sucky childhood, because so did Jim. And always, that thought was followed with the little, trickling inclination that they could have a not-so-sucky time together now.

That was another thought Jim wouldn't entertain, because he knew exactly where he would go with that thought if he let it rove around his head. And it wasn't so simple of a thing, as an Earth boy running away to Risa. No, this was an alien to the universe, something that wasn't known and like most occurrences of sudden introduction, people tended to react poorly when they are roughly introduced to something new.

And explaining that he had a refugee from a pre-warp planet would put them on the run for the rest of their lives and Jim wasn't that stupid...damn it.

With poorly contained anger, Jim stalked off to find Spock's computer. He'd snap him out of it when he was less likely to start making promises he couldn't keep. He may have been a jerk and a coward and a lot of other things, but he wasn't going to turn himself into a liar. He wasn't going to be like those people he had to deal with.

… .. . .. …

If he were prone to enjoying humor, Spock might find the situation funny. Jim had allowed him to meditate for a longer period of time as his assistance was not immediately necessary. Roused from his meditation, he found Jim asleep in his bed again, bowed over the half-open computer. It seemed that he was to have no luck with that program.

Spock once again removed the computer before changing back into working clothes. He gave Jim one last inquisitive look before leaving the room. The gardens were still charming, though the ship made it difficult to navigate them. Inevitably, Spock found himself staring at the ship.

It was an exquisite piece of technology, and a key element in understanding Jim. Though he had been advised against it, he climbed into the ship without supervision. Jim would likely forgive him of his curiosity. Stripped down, the ship appeared so much more..._tangible_. It seemed real, for lack of a better concept. It was no longer larger than life, but something made up of concepts and ideas that he could easily wrap his mind around.

Something caught his eye and Spock moved to the back of the cockpit. A panel had been disturbed in a singularly peculiar way, though he could not quite identify just what it was that caught his attention.

Curious, he began removing the bolts, with care not to lose anything that may prove necessary to replace it. He held the peculiar sensation that, at this time, he was engaging in behavior that he should not.

Brushing aside the illogical though, Spock removed the panel. Inside was a bag, not particularly large, though considerable enough. Spock had to work slowly to remove it from the small space without damaging it or the surrounding components. It did come free, however, and he sat as best he could in the space to inspect what was inside.

There was a strange bottle that, upon closer inspection, contained some for of scented liquid. There was a jacket of some sort, bunched up and stuffed into the bottom, smelling strongly of the same liquid, though not so much as to imply it leaked. Also inside was numerous small items with the same strange insignia as the ship, a strange vacuum-sealed product that he correctly assumed to be nutrient supplements, and a collection of bright, strange plastic cards with apparent data stored on them, if they were indeed able to connect to a computer as it appeared.

Looking again, the bag clearly held the symbol of the ship, along with the same cryptic words 'Starfleet'. Jim had told him it was the manufacturer of the ship. Not it appeared they had more to do with Jim's space travel than he had previously implied. It was curious, though, that Jim would keep these things hidden, rather than remove them during repairs.

Spock could not begin to assume what the items stood for, but the package seemed intimately familiar in one way to Spock. Though he was clearly attributing meaning before all data was collected, he couldn't help but draw his suspicious parallels. This bag was not unlike one Spock had packed before traveling through the Vulcan forge for three days. Except, in that case, he was not sent on the mission as others his age was. Similarly as this bag seemed to imply some aspect of this flight that was not quite according to plan.

Had Jim run away?

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**My hand hurts...but anyway, things are developing. I know this probably seems a bit rushed, but a few jumps of ill-defined time won't hurt the story. It's supposed to space it out without actually making you sit through detailed descriptions of each day. If you don't like it, let me know. If you do...well...carry on then. So yeah. Next week's update might be a couple days late...sorry in advance if it is.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Not only do I not own this, but the fans would run me out of work if I were responsible for writing it. Sorry for being so late.**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

"Jim, perhaps it would be wise to hydrate yourself." Spock stood at the door to his converted garage.

Jim nodded, wiping sweat from his brow, before glancing down to realize how futile it was. "Oh wow. I've got a puddle."

"Indeed." Spock glanced at the streaks of sweat running down Jim's pants. "It would be more productive if you allowed me to perform the welding and smelting necessary to make repairs. As I am less susceptible to the extreme temperatures involved, I would require fewer pauses."

Jim rolled his eyes, taking a nearby towel to his chest. "That's great and all, but I'm really alright. I'm not just going to make you do all the work."

"If you are certain." Spock nodded.

For the past week, ever since Spock had converted his garage to a metal shop, Jim had spent countless hours down there working off steam and his general discomfort. When he wasn't, he was poured over Spock's computer, which was not user friendly in the slightest, no matter how Spock insisted it was perfectly logical, or he was asleep. Somewhere in between he found time for eating and a long, painful shower.

Spock had been an enormous help the entire time. Both on the ship and when corralling Jim. They had fallen into such an easy living with each other. Spock knew what Jim needed and Jim knew what Spock needed. They handled little aspects of each other's day as they went along, somehow making it significantly easier and more efficient.

Jim would have Breakfast half-prepped by the time Spock finished meditation and Spock would have everything plated just as Jim got out of the shower. They took turns remembering who would do what meals throughout the day, never asking or doubting it would be done. They were constantly half-finishing each other's projects and trading things through the day without asking. Jim would have found it odd, occasionally, to wonder where something he'd been working on had gotten to, and finding it with Spock, finished.

Jim really had a problem, however, when Spock had finally had an inevitable accident. He'd cut himself open across the chest during a minor explosion when Jim restarted the ship at one point. It wasn't particularly deep, but Jim had nearly had a panic attack. _Spock_ had to remind him about the dermal regenerator. And then Jim had stupidly thrown his commandeered starfleet shirt at him. He looked almost instantly like he belonged in the uniform, and Jim could just picture the blue science tunic, folded carefully over the back of a chair in a Vulcan colored room, betrayed only by the silver walls of a spaceship and Spock, leaning casually against a bulkhead and reading off a PADD to his captain in the wee hours of the morning.

Jim had stormed out and when he next saw Spock, he was dressed in a Vulcan tunic and he later found his shirt back in his room.

Jim was grateful that Spock had prepared lunch, though, considering just how much he'd lost track of time. The cool soup and juice was just what he needed after spending...god, had it really been eight hours? Wasn't it just four in the morning not that long ago?

"You're going to have to teach me how to cook eventually." Jim muttered around a mouthful of soup, trying not to dribble it on himself.

"You seem quite capable of cooking on your own, Jim."

"So you say." Jim snorted, talking a long drink. "And yet somehow I burn things more often than not. How do you do it?"

"It is a matter of science-"

"Okay. Stopping that there Spock." Jim rolled his eyes. "Not that I don't love talking science with you, but I'm tired."

"Very well. I will refrain from lecturing." Spock inclined his head, well aware that Jim would start the conversation back up when he felt better equipped for it.

… .. . .. …

Jim started on the dishes as soon as he finished eating. Spock moved to help him when he finished. Jim no longer flinched when Spock moved behind him, no longer tensed when Spock brushed against him, no longer hesitated to press a hand into the small of Spock's back as he maneuvered past him, an idiosyncrasy he displayed none the less.

Spock found himself becoming highly acclimated to the quick, meaningless touches and reciprocating in kind. He was raised to believe that no touch was unimportant, no matter how slight. And yet it became clear as Jim became more comfortable that he needed to indulge himself in these small luxuries. Before Spock had begun to reciprocate his touches, Jim would become increasingly nervous and withdrawn. Baffling, Jim was even more nervous when he first began casually touching him. He was reminded of the past injuries he had cause Jim, and nearly refrained from further touches, but he refused to allow his discomfort to control him.

Jim was laughing at something Spock had said, a casual remark about Jim's washing capabilities. That laugh was richer, now, less vocally constricted. He was disappointed that he had not realized Jim's laugh was less than perfect, though it was clearly no fault of his own due to his unfamiliarity with the gesture.

At times, he wondered how his kind could live without hearing such a musical and intriguing sound.

"I'm so glad you're amused by my inability not to make a mess." Jim growled in a tone he'd come to understand was playful. "And don't even start denying emotions mister."

"Indeed Jim. I shall make no attempt to do so." Spock brush a hand across his shoulders as he made his way to the sink. "I am aware of the futility in arguing with you on such a matter."

Jim turned and opened his mouth to protest when he heard the sound of a car pulling up. Eyes wide, he hurried off to hide in his room. Spock quickly worked to finish the dishes before any visitors could question the presence of an extra serving.

"Spock." His father's voice rang through the house, loud and commanding.

"I am currently in the kitchen." He responded, stunned to find he had to consider the Vulcan words for a fraction of a second.

He switched back to thinking in Vulcan easily enough though, hiding how rattled he was as he turned to greet his father. The woman standing behind him came as quite a shock.

"Mother! I was not aware you would be joining me." He bowed his head quickly and offered his hand in a welcoming touch.

She pressed her palm gently and quickly to his own. "Are you well?"

"My health is optimal." He agreed. "As to your own?"

"I am functioning within a standard deviation." She muttered softly.

Spock found something strange and intriguing about this woman he knew to be his biological mother. Sarek, his father, had been the one most likely to interact with him. She had been a presence in his youth, and to some degree every visit to the lab or hospital, but when it was no longer needed for someone else to monitor the changes in his physiology, she largely avoided him.

"I am satisfied to hear this." He gestured for them to sit. "May I prepare you tea?"

"You may." She told him.

"K'Diwa, we will not." Sarek told her, not speaking at Spock. "There is something we must discuss."

K'Diwa. Spock had always heard him refer to her by this term of endearment. Others had referred to her as such on rare occasions, though they mostly used Sarek's family name. Spock's family name. He had heard of the rare practice of using words designed to evoke emotion as names in those who were not followers of Surak's teachings. It was not inconceivable that his own mother stemmed from such a bloodline.

And yet he could not help but observe that, if this were indeed her parent's intentions, the succeeded only in such with his father, who held the slightest of emotion in speaking her name. No other found need to comment or use such inflection when uttering her name.

"What is it we must discuss that can not be accompanied by tea?" Spock asked, tiptoeing dangerously around emotion as he had oft learned was appropriate among his own.

"When was the last time you submitted an assignment to the Vulcan Science Academy?" Sarek asked bluntly.

Spock barely contained his surprise and shock at his own lapse of judgment. "It has been some time. I have been preoccupied with personal studies."

"You have not fallen to fatigue or any strange side effects of your genetics?" K'Diwa prompted gently.

"No. I have not." Spock could feel his ears color involuntarily, recalling the arduous, invasive examination he was put through upon finding he reached biological maturity in a different way than was common for his species. "I am well."

"Your personal studies may be constrained until such a time as you have adequately completed your academic studies." Sarek scolded. "It is enough that you do not show restraint in your actions, but to show such disregard towards your studies and behave inattentively is unacceptable."

Spock felt himself color and returned to the very last of the dishes. "I believe I am close to a greater understanding of space than the Vulcan people have previously entertained."

"Enough." Sarek bellowed, though his voice was eerily flat in doing so. "You will cease this behavior at once."

"Sarek." K'Diwa stood. "I wish to speak with you at present."

Spock made no effort to stop them as the headed down the hall to converse privately, to angered with his father's blindness, to busy in his attempt to force down and repress anything such as emotion, to consider why he should have been the one to vacate the room.

… .. . .. …

Jim heard a pair of footsteps coming down the hall and for a fleeting second feared that Spock was leading this visitor straight to him. He ducked into the closet in the room, however, when he realized somewhat distractedly that the steps were approaching his room. He was grateful that he didn't leave anything out as he heard the door open from where he hid.

The footsteps, he realized as they approached the middle of the room, were clearly that of a male and a female. He had long become talented at telling the difference.

Soon to distinct voices began what was clearly an argument. Jim could only catch fleeing words, little things Spock had taught him that were effectively meaningless given the general lack of context. Spock's name seemed to come up quite a bit as well. The female clearly paced around the room, stopping dangerously close to the closet on numerous occasions. Jim was nearly certain she would hear his heart racing and fling the door open in inquiry. She never did, though, going so far as to slam her hand against the heavy metal.

Jim was certain he had squeaked when she did so, and just sat there holding his breath, hoping the bang had covered it. He didn't breath again, let alone easily, until she had paced back over to her companion.

There was a long pause of silence after he last outburst, and Jim thought that maybe they would be leaving. "Sarek..."

The man responded with a short, clipped set of words which were clearly not the ones she was looking for. She stomped her foot petulantly. What she said next cut through the haze of the moment, leaving Jim flayed open raw.

"Spock is our son and I refuse to believe you know what is best for him."

Jim wasn't sure time was passing at all. That was it. His mind had finally snapped. He was making shit up in the closet at home, blubbering in a corner with spit dripping down on his shirt waiting for someone with a straightjacket to find him. When the door opened, he'd see Winona and Jerk-face standing over him looking apathetic with a doctor at their side, and then maybe or maybe not fall back into his delusions.

Because there was no way she spoke standard.

The minutes seemed to drag on and he considered that it had been a trick of his ears, a very similar sounding phrase that he had only half listened to, and was about to dismiss the whole thing.

But the man responded tersly. "Very well...Amanda."

… .. . .. …

Spock had been unprepared for his parents return, or his fathers agreement for him to continue his personal studies so long as his academic work suffered no further. He was left somewhat speechless by this prospect. They left after that without so much as a goodbye, though he doubted he would have payed much heed to one had it been offered.

It was approximately ten minutes later, half-meditating at the counter, that he realized Jim was still absent. He immediately headed to the room and was surprised to find Jim not immediately present.

He quickly cleared his mind of distractions, allowing himself to focus singularly on Jim. There were times, when it almost felt as though he could tell where Jim was and what he was doing, though perhaps it was less a vague impression and more his growing familiarity with the young man. Indeed, after just a second's consideration, he rapped his knuckles lightly on the closet door.

"It is safe for you to exit, Jim." Spock informed him. "They are no longer present."

Jim did not respond, however, and Spock felt a sense of disquiet at that.

"Jim? Are you unwell?" Spock briefly considered ordering the closet door open, before recalling Jim's insistence that Spock never force him out somewhere. "I must insist you offer some discourse so that I may ascertain if it is necessary to leave you be, or if you are in need of some assistance."

There was a long silence and finally Jim's muffled voice responded. "I need some time."

"Very well." Spock hesitated to stand though. "Do you wish for me to leave?"

There was a strange scraping sound, followed by a shuffling. "Um...No? I mean...I'm not going to make you...but...I'm not opening up."

"That is acceptable." Spock took a seat by the closet door. "If you wish to converse I will remain for you to do so."

"Really?" Jim's voice was laced with suspicion.

"Yes, Jim. I shall remain as long as you need me." Jim chuckled in response, a dark sounding thing and Spock thought he could understand the sentiment behind that.

Spock wasn't the one going anywhere.

Spock leaned back against the wall, contemplating his father's instructions. He was permitted to miss one day of regular academic research in favor of his own personal endeavors so long as they appeared to be fruitful. It was unusual of his father to compromise, and he could not help but feel his mother was entirely behind such a thing. He was grateful for even one day of relaxed scrutiny, though the return of his course work would make his assistance to Jim considerably more difficult. Something they would have to discuss after Jim concluded whatever thought process was currently consuming all of his available attention.

That was something Spock had learned Jim was in short supply of.

"Hey, Spock..." Jim muttered through the door, almost like he didn't actually want to get his attention.

"Yes Jim?"

"Can you tell me about the science behind cooking?"

When he first met Jim, it would have seemed like an odd request, to return to such a conversation topic when there were clearly more pressing matters at hand. He had learned, in their short dalliance, that Jim was more receptive when his moods were met willingly. Jim would, in due time, return to the topic of importance, when he had calmed himself with something less distressing to him and could offer it the utmost attention. It was rare that Jim fell into such a state, but he had observed it enough to know it would not last particularly long.

With no questions or further prompting, Spock began to lecture Jim on how to cook, aware that, though something else clouded his mind, Jim was listening with rapt attention and learning as best he could.

… .. . .. …

If Jim were a more honest person to himself, and really, that was the only person he liked to lie to, he would admit his trepidation. Spock was in his space. _His_ space. No one got into his space, not even Sam.

Of course, Sam had never tried really. Never been particularly insistent about just being in the way. Ergo, Jim didn't know how to handle this not entirely unwelcome invasion. But Spock was in his space, and he wasn't making it worse. That was probably the most baffling part of it all.

Now, Spock wasn't _actually_ in his space. Jim wasn't entirely sure they would both fit in the closet. But Spock's voice carried through the door evenly and clearly. It was almost ambiance, something incredibly useful at that point, because Jim didn't have his father's jacket to wrap himself up in. He pointedly didn't explore the correlations between his father's jacket and Spock's voice. It was something he wasn't ready to scrutinize yet.

He found it hard to listen to Spock, though, his mind wandering in the dark back to what he had heard. Spock's parents spoke standard. It was a pre-warp planet and Spock's parents were speaking standard. Spock's parents were speaking standard...and that footnote at the end of the letter he had found was clearly standard, and Spock parents knew _STANDARD_. And holy shit. Who or what had they come in contact with, and why were they keeping it secret?

Jim tried to shake the thoughts, because he didn't want to know. If he knew, if he thought too hard on it, he'd realize something that he didn't want to realize.

He knew that much, at least. Because he knew the second he realized this, exactly what he would end up doing and the little lizard part of his brain reminded him that he could barely take care of himself as it was, and introducing that kind of obstacle on his own was only going to end up with him dead somewhere. And damn it, he'd run away so he wouldn't end up dead so doing something counter productive of that was _not_ what he wanted to do.

Jim crept out of the closet so he was sitting next to Spock, arms awkwardly wrapped around his legs, completely tucked up against his chest. Spock continued to sit in his half-lounging position, almost as though he had no idea Jim had exited the closet. That was clearly not the case, but it was a nice gesture anyway.

And when Spock had reached a good conclusion point for the time being, he offered his hand in a open palmed gesture to Jim. A gesture he had taught him during a cultural exchange and Jim quickly pressed his palm to his before withdrawing his hand again. He tried, repeatedly, not to touch Spock, but the thought that there was someone who could give him physical reassurances he had never known he was craving was increasingly tempting. And just when he though he had learned Spock's moods, Spock started offering little gestures back and Jim had panicked because changed behavior was bad behavior.

Spock had calmed him, as always, and Jim had to learn this new method, but Spock was patient and now Jim knew he would be thrown into a panic if Spock stopped allowing those gestures.

What scared Jim the most, though, was that he didn't know where 'the line' was. He was a nearsighted horse in blinders with the reigns pulling his head up and he had no idea where 'the line' even was. He knew there was a line. There was always a line. But he didn't even know what line to apply to Spock. How close was he permitted to be? How close was that anyway? If they were friends, what did friends do? Surely not hide from one another's family because they are an alien species unknown to the other. Definitely not include them in their felonious run across the universe.

But did friends hand holds? Was it totally cool to fall asleep on their shoulder after a panic attack, or was that more of a family only thing? It wasn't like Jim had much in the way of friends or family to go off of. All he knew was what he and Spock were comfortable with as far as they had tested and, with some obvious exceptions, he was going to keep finding out. Maybe it was more friendly than normal, or more dependent that strictly safe, or more familial than most people would understand, or something, but at this point Jim was willing to give and take everything they were both comfortable with. They could sort out labels some other time, after they had fully understood their routine.

And it scared Jim that, along with this co-dependance, there was an after there, somewhere.

No matter what happened, no matter who got hurt, no matter who ended up left all alone, staring up at the stars and wondering, there would be an after. There would be some point, where they could look back from. Where they could look back to. There was an after to this.

And while the transience of the moment was not lost on him, and that too was terrifying, the permanence of the moment was far more. Where ever his life led him, it would be _after_.

"Why were they here?" Jim asked conversationally, like it didn't matter.

Spock seemed to take that change in topic in stride. "I have been neglecting my studies."

Jim frowned. "That _is_ a problem. I didn't mean to stop you from learning. No more neglecting studies."

"I have been given permission to reduce my workload, though only by a fraction of what I have been neglecting. This will undoubtedly increase the necessary time to perform repairs on your ship."

Jim nodded. "That's fine. We can't risk being careless. If taking a little longer means less people are poking around, then that's what we'll do."

"Your superiors will not be concerned by your prolonged absence?"

They sat very still, watching each other. Jim could hear something in that tone, something challenging him to find the right answer. He had known it was only a matter of time until Spock started to suspect something, especially with Jim not even trying to get in contact with anyone. Now, he considered very carefully what he would say next.

"There isn't anything anyone can do until I'm back in space." He replied carefully, never lying. "No one can come on this planet without breaking a lot of rules."

… .. . .. …

Jim did not answer his question, most likely because he could not while still remaining honest. That, at least, confirmed many of Spock's suspicions. There were still many unanswered questions, but he would refrain from pressing for those until a time when Jim was less guarded.

He had put a considerable amount of effort into earning Jim's trust up to that point. He was not going to undo his work by making Jim feel uncomfortable. He was correct; they had time. And Spock would utilize that time to its fullest in order to understand everything he could about Jim. He was patient, and Jim was not. The knowledge he desired would come to him in due time as Jim shared more and more information in frustration and impatience.

As underhanded as that seemed, it was part of their unspoken agreement.

Whatever they were doing, that, at least, was a guarantee. And given their shaky agreement, it was reassuring to have something that was guaranteed between them.

Jim stood brushing off his pants, giving Spock a lingering, unusual look. Spock didn't know what was the cause of it, but it was clear there was something to the look. And Spock would find the cause of _that_ at another time as well. Whatever had happened to Jim, during the span of his parent's presence in his house, he was uncomfortable discussing it. He knew Jim could not understand Vulcan, but perhaps he had seen something? Perhaps he had guessed the nature of Spock's guests, though he had said nothing about their relation to him.

"If you are certain." Spock nodded, standing. "I must attend to my studies for the time being. I will return to assist you when I have concluded."

Jim nodded in turn. "Alright. Thanks."

Spock watched him for a moment, contemplating his actions. "Alert me if my assistance is needed."

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**I can't apologize enough for the delays. Just know this will be continued until it's done. I'm not going to promise the chapters will be any longer, or any sooner, but I'm going to keep trying to get this on time. Hopefully, I won't need two weeks between updates next time.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own. Sorry for the delay. I seems it's going to be about two weeks between updates until my hand is recovered. I am so sorry.**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

"Spock!" Jim pounded on the door to his room, seconds from a panic attack. "Spock! Open up. I'm sorry. Open up! Please! Spock!"

Spock did not answer. Jim slid down the door, gasping for air as it seemed incredibly hard to breath. He pounded a couple more times before trying to breath took priority. His heart continued pounding for him, slamming into his ribs so hard he wondered if it was possible for it to break them. He gasped and sobbed, the panic attack setting in. He knew he was going to be useless for half an hour now.

Shit.

Universe one. Jim zero. Shit. Whose bright idea had it been to lie to his host again about how he got there? And yes, lying by omission totally counted, as Spock had just proved. Jim replayed the scene over and over, wondering where it all when wrong.

Jim had been repairing panels that they had remade, replacing damaged parts with new. Spock was attempting to replace some of the damaged circuitry. Jim should have known better than to let him into the cockpit: Strike one. _Jim_ had dropped a bolt and it rolled into a grate: Strike two. Spock had retrieved it, exposing Jim's runaway bag. He simply cocked his head to the side and asked why Jim did not place his things in a more convenient place and why he had not retrieved them sooner. Jim mumbled something about having forgotten them in the excitement, dodging the other question entirely.

Spock didn't let that go, though, asking why he would have these items with him. They seemed to be the entirely wrong items for one doing an experimental flight. Jim fidgeted: Strike three.

Spock took that as his cue, prompting Jim with a question about what training one must do to become a pilot for an experimental spacecraft. Jim made to answer, but was cut off as Spock asked him just what his flight plan was. Before Jim could even make a vague squeak in protest, Spock turned an almost icy look on him.

"When were you planning to tell me the truth, Jim? You are a runaway and a thief."

Jim had looked away. "I wasn't."

"Enough." Spock told him flatly. "It is clear that you-"

"I wasn't planning on telling you." Jim corrected him, glancing back up. "It isn't any of your business, in any event."

Spock's nostrils flared as he stood. "You are operating under the erroneous assumption that you do not need to be honest with me, Jim. Perhaps it would be best if we both meditate on where we are to go from here."

Jim blanched. "Spock. Wait. You have to understand. Most people wouldn't help a runaway. I needed you to respect me, Spock. You wouldn't have helped me if you had thought I couldn't do what I said I could. This is your life but I don't belong here, Spock. I'm not like you. I had never planned on letting you know as much as you do, Spock. It was for your own good. You have to know I was doing what was best for me. You weren't ever supposed to go anywhere."

How could he have thought that was the best thing to say? How? It was selfish and stupid and tacky, to boot. His words must have seemed cruel. Jim felt so stupid. He could barely see, he was blinded by tears. He backed himself against the wall as best he could, wheezing for oxygen.

… .. . .. …

Spock had been incredibly dissatisfied with Jim's implications. He had not expected confronting him to go well, but to have Jim say he was to go nowhere? Spock knew Jim could not have known how his words would have been taken. Still, the implication that his life was to be meaningless was not a difficult one to draw. That, more than anything else, had cut deep through Spock's barriers.

He was moderately aware of the fact that Jim had stopped beating on his door. He stepped a bit closer, because another pervasive sound had taken its place and he could not identify it. He distinctly recognized the sound of Jim sliding down the door and he pressed his ear to it to listen. Jim's breathing was highly ragged. Spock's immediate inclination was to open the door and check on his well being, but that would simply encourage him. Jim made a sound Spock was not accustom to at all, sounding like a watery choke.

Spock opened the door.

Jim was half curled up, eyes open wide and mouth hanging open, gasping in and out though his chest heaved in a manner suggestive that he was not receiving adequate oxygen. Spock knelt next to him, a stern look on his face. That didn't last long, as he realized Jim was completely non-responsive.

Spock had no idea what was wrong with him. Any medical knowledge he possessed was irrelevant given that Jim was not Vulcan. He jostled Jim lightly, attempting to gain his attention.

"Jim..." Spock felt the corners of his mouth drop ever so slightly. "I do not find your behavior humorous, Jim."

There was no response. Jim continued to stare blankly, tears streaming out of his eyes and body shaking. Spock brushed a hand over his temple, briefly contemplating mimicking the gesture on Jim. Finally, whatever seemed to be blocking Jim's airways cleared, though, and he took a normal breath. Spock refrained from a meld, watching closely. Jim slowly seemed to return to normal, though perhaps catatonic. Seeing this, Spock decided something should be done.

He lifted Jim into his arms, receiving no protests and carried him into the room. If Jim was unwell, it would be best for him to be comfortable, rather than on the floor. Jim murmured something and Spock found himself actually straining to hear him.

"...rry...sorry...so...sorry...sorry..." Jim repeated over and over.

Spock was disquieted. Was it possible Jim's state was the result of an emotional disturbance? If that were the case, than he was certainly half responsible for Jim's current condition. The implications that emotions could have such an effect, however, was difficult for Spock to grasp. He had never seen anything like it.

Looking down at the fair, fragile creature in his arms, Spock knew with every ounce of knowledge he possessed that this was true. Jim's pretty blue eyes were reddened from crying and oxygen deprivation, the blood vessels in his eyes turning the sclera a dramatic red.

… .. . .. …

"I am sorry."

Spock glanced up from where he was working to see Jim sitting up in his bed, staring down at his lap. "I am aware of this fact."

Jim shook his head. "I didn't come from the best family. I did what I thought I had to. And I'm sorry. I...I want to trust you. I don't want to lie to you anymore."

"Than do not." Spock told him, coming to sit on the edge of the bed next to him.

Jim turned his blue eyes on him, big and watery. "I'm trying. I'll keep trying. I promise."

"That is all I can ask of you, Jim."

Jim looked down guiltily, before looking up with a strange resolve in his eyes. "It was a dream that became a reality and spread throughout the stars...the year was 2161...by that time, the temporary alliance of 2154 was still fresh in everyone's minds..."

… .. . .. …

"It would appear that the navigational equipment is once again functioning." Spock informed Jim, tapping the touch pad to ensure it was responding swiftly.

Jim leaned over from where he had been moving the seat in the cockpit to be more beneficial. "Good. Now I just need someone who knows what they're doing to keep it that way."

Spock glanced over his shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow when Jim knocked their foreheads together before returning to his work. Jim had become exceedingly affectionate, though still oddly withdrawn at points. The ship was progressing nicely and Spock was pleased to see that it would again start under its own power. Jim's allusions to Spock accompanying him had grown in frequency, to an almost unnerving degree. They had yet to discuss such a thing, but it seemed Jim was operating under the assumption that this would be the case.

It was Spock's greatest dream, to travel freely in space. But to just leave? No one would be able to know. He would never be able to return. While that seemed too like a fantastic and terrific dream, it was much to ask of him. When he tried to sit down and truly consider the possibility, it seemed impossibly enormous. How could he truly hope to conceive such a momentous and stupendous opportunity? How could he reconcile the responsibilities involved in such a decision?

So he did not prompt Jim, because he was not ready to answer, and likewise was grateful that Jim had yet to actually ask. Perhaps, the concept would not seem so foreign by the time it would be necessary to make such a decision. Perhaps it would seem natural to stay with Jim. It certainly seemed, at those little moments, to be the only sure thing.

The thought of Jim leaving him sent him deep into cathartic meditation. He was unsure why Jim continued to elicit emotions he had never known to exist in him. Yet, there, this feeling of loss and the crushing pain accompanying the thought of him leaving was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. So surely was Jim the cause of this, not only in thought but in its very nature, that Spock had no recourse. The thought of his life devolving into such a maelstrom of emotion was almost as frightening as the possibility that he would never see Jim again. That it was not a greater thing was the lynchpin that led Spock to see there was no fine solution for him.

Even if he had to chase after the stars for the rest of his life, he would find a way to join Jim.

"What would you do..." Jim mused half to himself. "If you found out you belonged in space?"

"I do not understand you question." Spock turned to look at him fully and found Jim was not looking back.

Jim shrugged. "Like...If I were born on a different planet than I was raised, I think I'd want to see it. Or if one of my parents was..."

Spock tilted his head to the side ever so slightly before returning to his work. "I do not quite understand your sentiment, as I have only recently adjusted to the concept of living on another planet. While it is true it is a feasible concept in my culture, it is highly distant. If one of my parents were alien to my planet, I think I would be curious as to their culture."

Jim was silent for a long moment before replying. "But you want to visit space anyway."

Now Spock hesitated. "I believe every explorer has followed the natural conclusion of their inclinations and envisioned themselves experiencing the depths of space."

"You're an explorer?" Jim hummed.

"What is science but an exploration of the unknown?" Spock replaced the last of the panels he was working with.

Jim chuckled. "Yeah. I get you."

… .. . .. …

Jim was floored. He'd tossed his father's jacket at Spock as a joke, really. They'd been discussing the fact that Jim had been wearing the jacket and holding his father's cologne when he ran away. The jacket still had a tear at the shoulder seam where Frank had tore it off of him as he ran. He remembered running through the rain, the bottle of cologne in his hand and the jacket hanging off one arm. He was going to leap in the quarry. He'd decided to end it. But that image came to mind, the image of the flagship docked in the construction dock. The repairs it was receiving as the pride of Riverside, the experimental ship supposedly no one knew about, sat awaiting its test flight and deployment on board.

Jim knew then what he had to do and with a sense of desperation, he took of for the stars, plunging himself into adventure.

Currently, though, he found that his three favorite things went together well. _Very_ well. His father's jacket fit Spock far better than it fit him and, while he knew he had some growing left to do, he was a little miffed. That was largely negated by the fact that the combination of his father's cologne and the scent of Spock's incense that clung to him mingled in a pleasant way. Jim recalled the last person he had seen in that jacket, and it was something of a bitter note, but no longer as sour and painful as it had been when he left.

Somehow, though, Spock seemed to sooth that pain too, appearing every bit the confident, capable and assured young man that Jim imagined his father to be. Seeing Spock fill out that jacket, Jim no longer felt like he was chasing an afterimage of his father. He didn't have to be his father.

Neither did Spock, though. Jim found himself looking at it in a new way. Why couldn't they do it together? Why couldn't they be more than the sum of their parts?

"Spock..." Jim stepped forward, tugging at the lapels of the jacket.

"Yes Jim?" Spock quirked an eyebrow.

"I-" Jim froze, glancing sideways. "Did you hear that?"

Spock nodded, wrapping an arm around Jim's waist. "There are multiple people exploring the grounds. It would be best to retreat to a backroom until I can ascertain who is paroling."

Jim nodded and reluctantly pulled away. "I'll wait."

"It should not be long." Spock instructed him.

… .. . .. …

Spock was unsure what would bring people to his home, or who they were, but he had little doubt that he could find out. He relied on his night vision to reduce the chance of being spotted before he found his unwelcome visitors. He heard rustling near the greenhouse and crept closer. None of the intruders was speaking.

Spock caught sight of a flash of movement and slowed his pace, hoping to make less sound. Clearly someone was suspicious of him. The would find nothing, however, creeping around his house. He had assured that some time ago.

There was a soft thunk sound and a deep grunt, followed by a sharp sound akin to hissing by a higher voice. Spock pressed himself close to the wall and scooted closer, peering around as best he could without being in open view. He could make out three male figures in a group, conferring near the wall of his greenhouse. They appeared to be discussing something in hushed tones, too quiet for him to hear. There was agitation in their movement, something Spock found curious. What could be so unsettling as to cause such a reaction? Surely his betters were not as prone to emotional frivolity as he was.

One of the figures froze and snapped his head up. Spock thought perhaps he saw something covering the man's eyes and face. The man tapped the shoulders of his compatriots and the scurried off.

Spock followed as long as he could, but they were moving swiftly. As they reached open desert they broke into a run. By the time Spock crested the dune after them, they were nowhere to be found. Warily, Spock returned, patrolling for a few more minutes before he headed inside. It was apparent that, whatever they were looking for, they weren't keen on him finding them looking for it. He suspected they would not return that night.

Jim was sitting in Spock's room when he returned. It seemed more like a shared room, as they were hardly separated anymore, constantly at one another's side.

"I was unable to ascertain their reason for being here." Spock informed him. "They were capable of eluding me."

Jim frowned. "Did you see them clearly?"

"No." Spock admitted. "They appeared to be wearing some form of apparatus over their eyes and face. I lost sight of them over a sand dune and they were capable of escaping."

Jim bit his lip. "Yeah. I'm sure they just managed to sneak off..."

"Jim?" Spock prompted.

Jim offered a weak smile. "It's nothing. I'm just worried that we're getting close to being found out. What if someone discovers us here?"

"Do not worry, Jim." Spock told him. "We will handle this."

"I know. I trust you." Jim insisted. "I'm just a bit paranoid."

"I will discover who is looking into our business, Jim and I will stop them. I am quite capable of these things if you allow me to do so." Spock offered his hand.

Jim pressed their palms together lightly before standing, running his hands through his hair. "Alright. Yeah. I trust you. I'm making you my first officer here, so get the job done."

"First officer?" Spock quirked an eyebrow.

"Well yeah. Clearly I'm the captain." Jim smirked. "Or do you have some kind of argument against that?"

Spock raised both eyebrows before shaking his head lightly. "Negative...Captain."

Jim's eyes light up and his face split in a wonderful grin. "Come on. We have more work to do. Take that old jacket off."

Spock glanced down in well contained surprise, realizing that he had indeed continued to wear the jacket. It was only his hope that, as he had not gotten an adequate look at them, the intruders had not properly been able to glimpse his attire. He made no mention of it to Jim as he removed the Jacket and followed him back to the living room.

Nor did he mention the strange feeling he had that these guests were not looking for him. Surely Jim could see, as well, that this behavior was reticent for any Vulcan, and highly suspicious at best.

… .. . .. …

"You aren't going to like this, Captain." A burly man dressed in red leaned heavily on the briefing room table. "You aren't going to like this at all."

"Somehow, dealing with this guy, that doesn't surprise me." The man sighed. "What is it?"

"Well," Another, leaner man frowned. "We think...he may have had contact with the natives. Based on the fact that the ship hasn't moved..."

The Captain frowned. "That is going to be a problem, but only a bit. We already knew it was a possibility when we got cleared. You're dismissed."

"Yes sir."

One of the men froze. "Oh...and Captain Pike?"

Pike looked back up at him, appearing heavily weathered and tired. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"If Kirk did spread this to a native, like we think he did...It might be best to move in quickly. It's possible we can deal with it before it spreads any information to its fellow aliens."

Pike snorted, waving him off. Presuming Kirk did come in contact, it was highly unlikely that no other native would have heard about him and his work, and yet, considering the time that had passed, it was unlikely that any officials knew about the presence of space faring societies. Someone would have gotten in contact or attacked by now.

He just hoped the boy knew what he was doing down there, for everyone's sake.

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**I know, late and horribly short. Try not to hate me too much. So things are moving...about as slowly as I am...yeah...**

**In other news, my doctor uttered the horrid "r" word the other day. Looks like I'm going through rehabilitation for my hand once the cast comes off...lucky me. Soon though, so that's good.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Almost a month later...I don't own. Enjoy the chapter.**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

Jim slapped his hands over his mouth, blushing furiously. Spock raised one questioning eyebrow, staring. It was not that he did not find the incite into Jim's past helpful and informative. Rather, as Jim had indicated before, he was prone to _over _sharing information. To wit, Jim was currently expressing embarrassment at his unfortunate method of expounding upon his sexual experiences or rather lack there of.

"I am unsure why you find this to be displeasing information." Spock admitted.

Jim groaned. "Okay, on my planet? It's sort of a bragging thing."

"I see." Spock's eyebrow inched up higher.

Jim burst out laughing. "Well thanks! Now I'm embarrassed because you think it _isn't_ important."

Spock cocked his head to the side. "You need not be embarrassed with me, Jim."

Jim smiled knowingly. "Consider it an illogical human thing, Spock."

"Indeed."

"Okay, your turn." Jim sloshed the liquid he was attempting to pour into a glass over the side and winced.

Spock considered the glass momentarily before nodding. "I have never taken a course directed towards fighting."

Jim furrowed his brow before rolling his eyes and downing his shot. "Boxing my freshman year."

"Boxing?"

"I'll show you sometime." Jim insisted, refilling his glass. "I've never...shit...my head is fuzzy...how much alcohol is in this?"

Spock frowned, glancing at the bottle Jim was drinking from. "It...I believe it has approximately fifty percent alcohol? I am unsure. It is predominately a preservative..."

"Right. You and chocolate." Jim smirked, setting the bottle down a little too heavily. "Suchs to be you. Sucks...Maybe not. Most the things I like have got alcohol."

Spock nodded. "Perhaps it is time we retire. Our faculties are no longer within a standard optimum range."

"Bullshit." Jim snorted. "You've got all your faculties."

"I do not."

"You're still talking fine. Haven't slipped into Vulcan once." Jim muttered somewhat bitterly.

"While you have spoken seven different languages." Spock added. "I believe rest would be preferable to continued intoxication."

Jim sighed, downing his shot. "Fine. Okay. Sleep it is."

Spock drank the last of his drink as well and helped Jim to his feet. He had been reluctant, at first, when Jim made this suggestion. Now, though, with such a range of insight into Jim's actions, he believed that he was better capable of handling him. It was a productive evening. Jim tottered off to Spock's room, only slightly unsteady due to his inebriation. Jim had unabashedly taken to staying in Spock's room. Spock had initially had misgivings about his ability to sleep with another unfamiliar presence, but soon found Jim's presence was not unwelcome.

After a few nights Jim also settled in easily. Finally, after Jim awoke one night screaming that strange, alien name, Spock asked him. Who is Sam?

At the time, Jim had deflected, giving muttered words about family. The next morning he broke down and explained everything about Sam leaving him, even knowing the kind of person he was leaving him with. Spock found for the first time since his youth he was overcome with anger. If he could travel to Jim's planet as meet the man who had hurt him...Jim calmed him, eventually, and he regretted showing such an unbecoming emotion.

"Coming?" Jim slurred a bit, glancing over his shoulder.

"One moment, Jim. I must check on the computer functions before I retire for the night."

Jim nodded and left him to it. Spock headed into the garden and paused only a moment to brush his hand over the hull of the ship. The hull that he had helped to repair. The hull that, not two month ago, had sat under his curious, naïve hands. Not even two months of the curious alien that had crashed into his life. Had it seemed long or short? He couldn't tell.

The computer was running properly, running an evaluation on the ship. It was, so far as they could discern, nearly completed. Jim would be leaving the planet soon. What would happen then, he did not know, but he found he trusted Jim. He would not just leave him with no consideration. Not now, given their relationship.

Spock made his way through the house, turning off the lights and moving the strew about papers into one easy place. Jim had an odd habit of leaving things everywhere and had, on more than one occasion, raced frantically through the house to retrieve something while simultaneously insisting he knew exactly where it was. Spock could identify each paper before he retrieved it, always keeping track of Jim through second nature.

He moved to placed the papers in a drawer of his kitchen, next to the familiar alien devices as he often found most of Jim's papers stuffed there anyway. When he had once tried to relocate them to his desk, Jim had been frustrated and unable to locate anything. He had since agreed to leave them in the kitchen. Illogically, he found he enjoyed having Jim's paperwork there, considering it was the place of their first true communication. It was a thought he ignored regularly.

A strange beeping sound drew him from his thoughts. He opened the device drawer and found a small rectangular device flashing at him. Spock lifted it out and looked it over. While Jim had made an effort to show some of the devices to him, this one had never come up in conversation. Spock pretended not to notice the firearm Jim often kept on his person, but he had no reason to believe this would be dangerous.

He flipped the top up and there was a moment of static and something like a flurry of sound coming from it. Finally, a sound was made.

"James Kirk..." A deep, male, _alien_ voice spoke firmly. Spock held his breath, eyes wide. "It's fine. You don't have to respond. But we are closing in on you. If you cooperate, then nothing has to happen. We know why you left. We can make it all work out if you just help us help you. Let us come get you and come back with us. Just tell us where you are and we can help you."

Spock felt his jaw tighten. "Jim has all of the assistance that he needs."

He shut the device, heart racing. That he had done such a thing...The risk he had just taken was enormous. And yet the thought of them taking Jim from him was unacceptable. The ship would be done soon. Jim would be able to leave, to get away from them. It was a risk. One he was willing to take on Jim's behalf.

… .. . .. …

Pike's nostrils flared, eyes wide and mouth a very thin line. He looked up at the two women across from him and the three very pale men. He turned to his communication officer and pursed his lips.

"Well, I think this just went well over all of our heads..."

"Captain." The oldest women in the room rose stiffly. "In light of these events, I believe it would be best that all non-personnel were confined to their rooms until such a time as we have finished this mission."

"Number One," Pike sighed. "We have three kids, a twenty-four year old doing an internship on the ship who doesn't like space, and that one twenty-nine year old engineer that keeps letting them get into things. There is no way we're keeping them in their rooms."

She scowled. "Captain, with all due respect, how difficult can it be to restrain two teenagers and a pre-pubescent boy?"

Pike shook his head. "More importantly, Kirk is going to be a big problem. Either there's someone helping him that we didn't know about...or there's something very concerning going on on that planet."

"He's not human."

Several heads snapped up and to the teenage girl who stepped out from behind a chair in the corner. Number One gestured to her pointedly, eyes wide and serious.

"Captain! This is a serious breech of confidentiality."

"I want to hear what she has to say." Pike turned in his seat, gesturing for her to come over. "Why do you think he isn't human?"

She pursed her lips, glancing at the communications officer who seemed unimpressed. "Standard isn't his first language. He as an accent that has no basis in an earth language. What's going on?"

"That is none of your business." Number One told her, crossing her arms over her chest.

Pike smiled softly. "You're pretty good with languages?"

She straightened up, pride obvious on her young face. "I am familiar with several Earth languages, more than one dialect of Andorian and I plan to receive my degree in xenolinguistics from the academy as soon as I am old enough to enroll."

He nodded. "I want you working with my communications officer. Tell me everything you can about this man."

Her eyes brightened. "Yes sir!"

"Number One get..." He glanced at her.

"Nyota"

"Nyota, a headset and a room to work in. I'll handle the paperwork."

"Yes sir." She replied flatly. "Should I bring the other children in so you can debrief them?"

"Don't get sassy with me." He chided playfully. "I'll find something for them to do."

… .. . .. …

Jim didn't know why Spock was being withdrawn, but he knew it was happening. Spock was _avoiding_ him. He wasn't sure if something had sunk in from that night drinking that was disconcerting, or if it was something to do with the ship that he didn't know about yet, or what. All he knew was he was getting fed up. It had been two days and Spock was nearly frantically buried in his work on the ship.

It was a mute point. He couldn't call him on it, because he had to clean is stuff up because apparently Spock's parents were coming for another visit. Spock indicated that this was abnormal for them, not only announcing the visit, but how often they were visiting. Jim knew they were suspicious, but all he could do was head into his room and pout. He listened as best he could, but there wasn't much he could do being stuck in a room far from any discourse. He couldn't exactly creep into the living room and listen to them by crouching behind the couch.

Jim flopped backwards onto the pet bed that was effectively his lounge chair. It reminded him a lot of the bag chair he used to have, before a certain someone took a knife to it as punishment. With an ear turned to the hall, Jim focused on the computer in front of him.

It was feasible that he could have the ship ready to go in just a couple more days. This was making him loose sleep at night. He knew he had to make a decision soon. He wasn't going to pretend anymore that he wasn't thinking of bringing Spock along. He could keep putting it off in the hopes that their heartfelt goodbye would end up like some cheesy romcom and Spock would come running after him and they'd just instantly agree to stay together. The realist in him, however, knew that they would need to actually think things out a little more thoroughly.

He was currently mapping out the changes that would need to be made if Spock did go with him. There were a lot.

Somehow, he couldn't conceive a single scenario where Spock agreed to go with him. But still, it was nice to dream. Nice enough that he was genuinely considering what he was going to say. Maybe...Jim shook his head.

No. That was another bad plan. Encouraging a telepath to poke around in his head because he wasn't good at expressing himself was generally considered a bad plan. But Spock would understand him, and then maybe he wouldn't have to be alone anymore. He kept reminding himself that it was okay to be alone: that was why he ran away. He didn't want to be disappointed, trying to rely on anyone ever again.

But Spock changed all of that in seconds. Every time Jim managed to convince himself that he could do this on his own, he'd run into Spock and see those big brown eyes and wonder how he ever got by on his own.

It was incredibly frustrating, actually. He was pretty sure not even Sam could make him feel all co-dependent.

Jim glared at the computer screen, deleting that sentence. He had written it in, somehow, and that was unacceptable. The last thing he needed was Spock knowing just how disturbing his thought process had gotten in regards to him. Which was another reason why he shouldn't really be letting him in his head. He looked back at what he had written and couldn't help but think the whole thing needed destroyed. Maybe he could sneak out while Spock was distracted with his family and get the ship as far as the nearest star base. Sure, he'd be turning himself in, but he'd be out of Spock's life. He wouldn't ruin his life anymore.

Jim heard footsteps coming down the hall, feminine. Apparently Spock's mother was still around. Walking quickly, though. Was she upset about something? Jim shut the laptop and ducked into the closet.

… .. . .. …

"Spill." A young Asian boy plopped down in the seat across from Nyota.

She gave him an unimpressed look. "What Hikaru?"

"We know you're in on something. We want in." Hikaru folded his arms firmly over his chest. "You've been absent from all the tours and the work for the last few days. What are you doing?"

Nyota frowned, glancing around. "I don't know what you're talking about. And even if I did, I wouldn't tell some little kid like you."

"Little kid?" He looked affronted. "I'm like, two years younger than you. I'm almost fifteen!"

"And the second I tell you that nine-year old will find out." She gave him a look daring him to deny it.

He flushed. A second later said little, curly haired nine-year old climbed out from under the table, looking no more abashed than if he had been sitting at the table the entire time. Nyota raised an eyebrow, mildly confused at how he got under there without her noticing.

"Iz good plan." The little boy muttered, kicking his feet back and forth. "Ve are only vishing to be prowing capabilities to ze Keptin."

She pressed her lips into a firm line, shaking her head. "No. Nu-uh. I already pushed it sneaking into a confidential meeting. I'm not going to break their confidence by telling you anything."

Hikaru sighed, ruffling the other kid's curly hair. "I get it. You have your adventure. We'll just shove off."

She bit her lip as they stood. "Fine. Okay. Stop."

Hikaru hid his grin, fighting it down before turning back to look at her curiously. Curly-top didn't even try. "What?"

She sighed, dropping her shoulders. "I can't tell you what I'm working on...but...well, there may just be a recording in the databanks from a couple days ago, just about ten p.m., that might be of interest to you. Presuming you were good enough to get access to it...it's possible you could figure out what was going on."

Hikaru smirked. "But you wouldn't condone breaking into Starfleet records."

"Precisely. If I knew what you were going to be doing, I'd have to report you to the captain."

"It iz seeming ve vill hawe to giwe up." The little boy grinned from ear to ear.

"Chekov..." Nyota sighed. "I pity Starfleet when you grow up."

… .. . .. …

Spock stared at his father, sitting stiffly across the living room table from him. It was perhaps the politest they had been in a long time, which was highly baffling. Sarek was asking probing questions about his research. Spock was trying to direct the conversation back to school work. He wasn't sure why the one time he didn't want to talk about his own work, his father insisted on asking.

Perhaps it was his final agreement to allot him time to work on his own pursuits, but he now felt the need to see just how well he was progressing on the matter. Sarek seemed highly invested in how close Spock was to workable experiments.

Honestly, he had no idea his father held interest in interstellar travel. How else could he explain the extremely invasive questions and repeated probing, though? Sarek even missed an opportunity to chastise him for a statement Spock made about his peers. His mother made passing attempts to divert the conversation before finally excusing herself to make tea. Spock could hear her moving efficiently about the other room.

Meanwhile, a staring contest ensued.

He wanted desperately to know what his father was thinking, but he couldn't being to broach the topic. If he started probing his father for answers, then his father would start getting to particularly difficult questions. That he knew quite clearly. He didn't grow up without learning that. Neither of them wanted to start pressing, though, because that was going to be the start of a war.

At some point, Spock registered the fact that his mother was no longer moving around the kitchen.

If he listened close enough, he would have heard her head down the hallway. Better yet, he would have heard a door open. He was far too focused, however, on staring at his father.

"I believe it would be wise for you to visit the science academy soon. It has been some time since your last health check." Sarek finally spoke, completely off topic.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "My health is adequate."

"Indeed?" Sarek seemed to go a light green. "Given your advanced sexual maturity, I believe it would be prudent to continue checking your health."

Spock's ears turned deep green. Of all the things...It was true, though. He had matured physically far sooner than his peers. Even now he had the appearance of a mature and grown adult, while most of his peers appeared to be, and indeed were, still in their adolescence. His rapid rate of maturity was viewed as highly disturbing by his peers. Due to certain biological factors, it was even more disconcerting. He had yet to experience these difficulties, however, even though, by all other measures, he was matured. It was a constant state of concern for the scientific community, and a constant state of interest.

If his parents had found a way to remove those biological imperatives...

It was natural that they would wish to do further studies, yet Spock had somewhat hoped they would ask for no further tests. It was inevitable that every time he entered the academy, he was subjected to abuses unbecoming of his peers and superiors. There was no recourse, however, as responding was far worse.

"I am capable of monitoring my own health, father." Spock replied tersely.

"Spock-" Sarek froze, interrupted by the most horrifying sound in the known universe.

The sound of a girl screaming.

… .. . .. …

Jim held his breath as Spock's mother..._Amanda_...entered the room. He peered out from a crack in the closet. She was beautiful, more than that picture did justice. From what he could see, she was staring down at something, a piece of paper. He inched back as she threw on the light in the room.

"Oh no." She whispered, her hand rising to her lips.

Lips that Jim suspected were carefully painted with makeup to remove the very human color of them. He shifted, placing the phaser in his hand on stun. He wasn't going to let this come back to hurt him or Spock.

"I don't believe this. I can't believe he learned this..." She shook her head, smoothing out the paper. "I was so careful."

Jim crept out of the closet, watching her closely as he maneuvered himself between her and the door. His heart was racing. If she made a sound...if Spock found out...if Spock's father found out...

It was too late for that. Things were rapidly going down hill. She knew that Spock had papers in Standard and Jim didn't believe for a minute that she wouldn't confront him on it. She was going to ruin everything. Now, mind you, she was also the very reason that he was genuinely considering taking Spock out of there, but still. If they were willing to keep this from Spock, how far were they going to go to keep their little secret.

She placed her head in her hands for a moment before shaking it clear. Jim watched her straighten herself, clearly steeling herself to do something.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Jim announced, bringing his phaser up.

She whipped around, big, brow eyes wide. "You-"

"Don't talk." Jim ordered.

Her eyes fell from the phaser to the Starfleet insignia on his shirt. "You're breaking the prime directive."

"You had a kid with a native." Jim countered. "Stop talking. What planet are you from?"

She pursed her lips, trying not to chuckle as she pushed the cloth from her head, exposing two round ears. "You certainly aren't an officer. Are you even enlisted?"

"I'm asking the questions." He snapped. "How the hell could you do this? How could you do this to Spock?"

Amanda narrowed her eyes. "So you have had contact with my son. How long have you been here?"

"Long enough." Jim hissed. "How-"

Jim froze, snapping his head sideways. Amanda was already running for the door, maternal instinct taking over. There was a scream. A girl's scream.

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**And you though I wasn't going to leave it on a cliffhanger...So much got done this time around. Hopefully the next one will come quicker. My hand is almost completely useless right now...I really need to stop breaking bones. It's a once a year thing with me.**

**I have a very important reason for including our young crew. One you will see eventually...Hopefully before next month. I really am sorry about being late.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I don't own Star Trek. Honest and for true. I'm sorry for such a terrible delay. Seeing as my difficulties of the last few months are largely unimportant to the story, I'll refrain from offering excuses. Please enjoy this extremely late update...**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

Jim caught her wrist, jerking her back. Amanda turned to snarl at him and he pulled the cloth back over her head. She gave him a long, hard look, eyes wide with surprise before Jim disappeared into the closet. Amanda hesitated only a moment longer before darting out of the room. She found Sarek and Spock standing in the kitchen, peering out the wide open window.

"Mother." Spock turned to her immediately, eyes wide. "Where were you?"

She looked between him and his father, feeling an apprehension she had thought she shook off a long time ago. "I had need of the facilities. I heard the sound of a young female in distress?"

"A most curious occurrence." Sarek inclined his head sharply. "It is possible this was the facsimile of such a cry created by a bird. You are well?"

"I am." Amanda nodded.

"Do you wish to leave?" Sarek asked her.

Spock frowned ever so slightly. Amanda glanced at him, eyes still wide and nodded. "Perhaps it would be best if we were to retire for the night. It has grown late and we are keeping Spock from his studies."

"Very well, we shall leave for now." Sarek nodded to Spock.

"Live long and prosper." Spock said thick through confusion.

"Live long and prosper." Sarek agreed.

Amanda said nothing, lips pressed tight into a thing white line. That boy...his blue eyes were burning in her mind. He knew what she was, and yet he had said nothing to Spock. He actively prevented her from exposing herself. For all that he had seemed so self-righteous, so presumptuous, so brash, he'd protected her secret. He had acted not only for her sake, but for Spock's. He didn't want him to find out the wrong way...he knew there was a wrong way.

That boy was trying to protect Spock...and yes, himself, but somehow, she didn't think it was fear, exactly that made him so distrustful of her. What would they do? A fellow human and the native that had a child with her? What harm could they bring to him that he couldn't refute? No, he was protecting something far more important to him than his well being. He was protecting what he and Spock were doing together, whatever that was.

He was the cause of Spock's distraction, his side project, the way he was growing into his own, standing up to his father for what he truly wanted. This boy, with his blazing blue eyes and a hand that couldn't hold a gun on an innocent person steady, this boy, who had somehow proven himself to Spock and proven himself good for him...this _human_ boy was more than just what he seemed.

Amanda watched over her shoulder as Spock's house disappeared in the night. She should have said something, _should_ say something. Yet a small part of her felt the same excitement that had brought her to this planet...no...she should say something, but the scientist in her wanted to see what Spock would become. What this boy would make of him.

… .. . .. …

"Jim." Spock rushed into the private room.

Jim eased out of the closet, a cautious look on his face. "Yeah?"

"Jim." Spock sounded relieved, cupping his cheeks and looking him over. "You are well?"

"I'm fine." Jim pulled his hands down with a smirk. "What's going on? Where are yoru parents? And what was that scream?"

Spock twined their hands together, eyes wide with emotion. "It is nothing, Jim. My parents have left. They deemed it too late to continue our discourse. It is likely the sound you heard was the call of one of the many desert creatures that inhabit the area."

Jim gave him a suspicious look. They both knew exactly how likely that was. It was the most logical thing, surely, but not what was happening. Jim squeezed his hands a moment before pulling his own free. He paced the room shortly, rolling out his shoulders. Behind him, Spock placed his hands at his back, watching him in his movements. Still he seemed so foreign to him.

And yet, there was that comforting familiarity that nagged at him. He knew it, somewhere he would not allow himself to truly explore. He knew there was a deeper connection between them, some reason for why it was so easy for him to reach Jim. He knew what made Jim familiar, but just the same he knew he could not acknowledge it. Doing so would not only jeopardize everything they had accomplished, it would bring crashing down even the strongest and most secure of pillars surrounding his life.

So, though it was far from a conscious thought, he studiously ignored this connection, calling to him.

Jim turned back to him, smiling brightly. "It is pretty late. I keep forgetting just how long the days are on your planet. I mean, I've never had a very good sleep schedule, but some how these longer days really work well for me."

"Indeed?" Spock hummed, something he found Jim took comfort in. "It would be conducive to your health to retire for the night."

"Hm." Jim agreed. "Yeah. Okay. I'm going to go take a shower first, then I'll come to bed."

Jim watched him walk down the hall, looking for anything that would indicate some kind of problem. Spock didn't show any signs of trouble in his actions though. Jim locked the bathroom door before he pulled the phaser from the back of his waistband. He stared at it dispassionately for a moment.

What kind of monster was he?

He'd just pointed a gun at his only friend's mother. And okay, that was highly complicated, but what the hell had he been doing? She was an innocent woman...well...more or less. Jim still had his suspicions about how she had ended up on this planet, but more or less he believed she was innocent. She didn't tell anyone, and yes that was in part to protect her own secret...A small part of him argued that she felt her own secret was more important than Spock's safety, but his gut wouldn't let him believe that.

Speaking of Spock's safety, Jim was getting the distinct feeling things were getting very dangerous. He couldn't pretend anymore that what he was doing wasn't putting Spock in a bad way.

He needed more time though. They _needed_ to do a couple more days of work. The ship was almost ready, but it wasn't _there_ yet. That frustrated him immensely, and the anxiousness and anxiety was starting to eat a hole in his stomach. He shut the shower off, brushing his hands instinctively over his skin. That whole sonic component still seemed so odd to him. Jim's eyes fell to the phaser again. He was putting Spock in danger; serious, inescapable, irrefutable danger. If he did nothing, then Spock would end up hurt.

A dangerous grin spread across his face and he tucked the phaser in his waistband and started down toward the bedroom. If Spock was in danger, Jim would do what he had to to protect him. And it looked like he was making time for a shooting lesson in the morning.

… .. . .. …

"Is it safe?"

"Da. Iz clear Hikaru."

Sulu pushed the cabinet door open and the three tumbled out uncomfortably. Uhura rubbed at her back, glaring at him as she attempted to remove the footprint still there. Chekov bounced to his feet looking the room over more fully.

"Iz clear."

"You don't think you could have been sure of that before we came tumbling out of the cabinets _Pavel_?" Uhura hissed, face red.

"Do you think maybe you could not get your hair stuck on the windowsill next time we break into someone's house?" Sulu refuted, shutting the cabinet doors softly.

"Like that was my fault."

"What kind of stealth operative screams when her hair gets stuck?"

"You are both being loud, da?" Chekov chastised, standing on his tiptoes to properly dig through the drawers.

They paused, giving the much younger child equally scandalized looks. He ignored them, grubby little fingers riffling through drawers and shutting them when he didn't find what he wanted.

"You're going to stab yourself on a knife." Sulu sighed, taking over since he could actually see the content of said drawers. "Get up on the counter and see if you can't find anything in those high up cabinets. Uhura, clear the halls, if you can do that without waking anyone up."

She mutter snippishly under her breath, slipping carefully out of the room and peering around. Chekov scrambled effortlessly up onto the counter and was silently going about his research. Sulu was a bit more careful in double checking everything, looking for any false drawers. He'd been a kid once and knew they were always effective. Never mind that he was still a young teenager...

"What have we here?" Sulu muttered, pulling a stack of papers free.

They were very distinctly written in standard and below them the unavoidably Federation made tools. Either the guy they were looking for was dead and this alien was planning on using his tools for profit or, more likely, given what they had heard and his familiarity with standard, the alien was harboring him for some purpose or another.

"Chekov, what can you tell me about these schematics?" Sulu ordered softly.

Little hands were right beside him in a second reaching for the papers. "Is wery adwanced. Does not seeming to be possible...this must be for experimental ship."

"That's what I thought." Sulu frowned, tucking the papers back in place. "I'm guessing the guy Starfleet is looking for crash landed on this planet and this alien found him. Somehow, he convinced the guy to help him, and now...well, now he's here. He's been fixing it, probably. If they were trying to break the prime directive, I think something bigger would have happened by now. And I don't think we'd just be here."

"This place is immaculate." Uhura returned to the room. "Definitely owned by the alien who was recorded speaking to Captain Pike. The language is intense. I glanced through a couple of his books, it'd take a couple years to properly crack the languages, even for a great communicator. Either he's spoken to someone who knows Standard...or we're dealing with a telepathic species."

Chekov eyes got big. "Yo-mayo. This is not being good. Vhat if he is knowing ve are here?"

"I think him or one of the others that were in here would have noticed us and called us out, in that case." Sulu shook his head. "You sure he couldn't just be a really good linguist?"

Uhura puffed out her cheeks, glaring. "There is no easy way to convey the level of conceptual knowledge necessary in such a short time frame. It's impossible to have this kind of understanding in just a few months. Only a telepath could access the necessary understanding of the language to this degree in such a short time."

"Then how were we not noticed?"

"Maybe it has a very limited range, or doesn't work through material like metal. It could be a species that is dependent on touch for their telepathic abilities..." Uhura shrugged. "But we know they are definitely communicating. And that it's likely he is hiding the fugitive from others of his own kind too."

Sulu blew out a surprised huff of breath. "This Kirk guy must be one hell of a charmer if he managed to smooth over this alien."

"Or the alien is of peculiar mindset." Chekov hummed.

"Now what?" Uhura frowned heavily, tapping her foot. "This _was_ all your idea."

"Now we find some place safe to wait." Sulu smirked. "I left a note for that engineer, letting him know what our plan was."

"You what?" She hissed. "He's a member of Starfleet. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking if he didn't want to loose his job he'll beam us back up quiet like." Sulu rolled his eyes. "Who would actually believe Chekov was able to program a delayed beaming so all three of us could get down here on our own? No way. He'd be charge with conspiring and helping us get down here."

Chekov scuffed his shoe a little. "Is not plan I am liking, but he vill understand."

Uhura sighed, rubbing her temples. "Okay. Fine. We need to find some way to stay safe and unfound. I don't think hiding in the garden with the space ship is going to work very well, but it looked like no one had been in the garage in a few days..."

"Garden?" Sulu half whimpered before coughing and righting himself. "Right. Okay. So we snag some food and hide out there. Uh...the garage that is."

"I can't see this going wrong at all." Uhura rolled her eyes before gesturing for them to follow her."

… .. . .. …

To Spock's surprise, Jim was already up by the time he finished his sleep cycle. Jim was sitting in the kitchen, munching on a fruit and reading over one of his reports. Sitting on the counter next to him was the curious device he had seen on multiple occasions that Jim refused to answer questions about. Spock sat down across from him, noting how he didn't even acknowledge his presence.

After a moment of continued silence, Spock reached across and plucked the device from the counter. Jim didn't so much as acknowledge his action, still engrossed in his work.

If this was some sort of test, Spock did not know what was being measured. So instead he turned his attention to the device. It was glowing at one part, and interesting shade of blue. Spock noted the easy way it fit in his hand and a small trigger on it. He brought it closer to his face to inspect.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Jim announced, never looking up.

"Indeed?" Spock moved it farther back.

Now Jim did glance up, pushing the device to the side with a sigh. "Don't point that at anyone you don't want to get hurt."

Spock glanced down at it, eyebrow in his hairline. "Fascinating. That is the purpose of this device?"

"More or less." Jim agreed. "It has two settings, stun and kill. It's currently set to stun. You change that with that little button on the side. Don't change it, ever. If you can't do it with stun, you probably shouldn't be in the situation."

"Explain this stun setting."

"For the most part, it just knocks a person unconscious. How long depends on the individual constitution. Some people it can kill, so no shooting old people or kids." Jim noticed he didn't particularly find it funny and let the small smile drop. "Never use this for anything but defense."

"Vulcans are largely pacifists Jim." Spock informed him, though he continued to hold the weapon tightly.

Jim nodded. "And I hope it stays that way. That said, I'd feel a lot better if you knew how to use that, just in case. I'd never forgive myself if I ever left you near a species that was not so sweet and cuddly without any way to defend yourself."

Spock stared down at it. "It is similar in concept to an old Vulcan weapon. The weapon was never expanded upon as wars were largely averted on this planet and we do not hunt animals for food or sport...I have never handled such a weapon, it should prove interesting."

Jim smiled, setting aside his work and standing. "That's what I wanted to hear. Now lets go line up some fruit for a shooting gallery."

… .. . .. …

"Jim!" Spock dropped the phaser in his hands, rushing to said Jim's side.

Jim shook his head, grimacing. "Well, that wasn't as successful as I had hoped."

"You are unwell, we will not proceed."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I dropped a fruit, Spock. It's nothing."

"The spasm that occurred in your hand whilst attempting to grip the fruit is an indicator that the bone in your hand may be healing improperly. I have been negligent in your care, Jim. We will asses the healing in your hand and take proactive measures to ensure the return of full function."

Jim gritted his teeth. "Not until you hit the fruit."

Spock paused his attempt to inspect Jim's hand. "This is unimportant at the moment, Jim."

"No. It is." Jim argued. "It is important. And I won't let you fix my hand until you do it."

"And if I attempt this you will allow me to tend to your hand?"

Jim grimaced, before nodding reluctantly. "Yeah. Okay. No squirming or complaining or anything, but only if you do this."

"I see." Spock stood, heading over to retrieve the phaser. "Please show me once more how I am to do this."

Jim nodded, circling Spock with a smirk. He kick Spock's leg as gently as possible, pushing him into the proper position. Keeping his hurt hand close to his chest, he poked and prodded Spock until he was standing somewhere near what Jim wanted. Jim smiled. Phasers were nothing like the old earth guns that Jim loved to read about. No recoil, no kick, nothing to brace against. The stance he asked of Spock was simply for the improvement of his aim, to minimize the target he presented, and of course to make it easier on Jim to help.

"Now, bring the phaser up, keeping your finger off the trigger. It doesn't take so long that you're wasting time with the move and you're significantly less likely to hit something you didn't plan for if you only have your finger on the trigger when you're pulling it. Take your time to aim. Point at your target, keep your eyes on it. The gun will roughly follow, but it's up to you to get it on target." Jim stepped back, looking him over.

"I understand."

"Course you do." Jim rolled his eyes. "Here's what's important: your phaser is always set to kill, no matter what it's set to. Always. Keep your finger off the trigger. Line up the sights, nice and easy, just like I showed you. Keep them on your target. Phasers are accurate within an inch at fifty meters. Anything less is on you."

Spock raised an eyebrow, curtly informing Jim without words that as soon as he finished talking he would see just how accurate he could be. Jim had very little doubt it would be well within the standard accuracy margin. He'd seen people, trick shooters and the like that threw all accuracy measurements, probability, and mechanical limitations out the airlock, placing shots people insisted were impossible by the technological standards. If he could teach him the basics, he knew without a doubt Spock could be one of the best shooters in the Federation...or, well, maybe not given the pre-warp issue, but the essence remained.

"Level out your breathing and..."Jim paused, exchanging an amused look with Spock. "Never mind. Just keep that permanent calm thing you have going on...You're better than a human in that your hand isn't wiggling even a little. Most people can't keep something that steady that long. We have involuntary twitches."

"You are aware that Vulcans have greater control of our muscles and so called 'involuntary' body functions." Spock peered sideways at him. "You are stalling so that I will not tend to your hand."

Jim huffed. "You're going to need to squeeze the trigger. Don't jerk it or yank on it. It's a smooth, steady motion back. Straight back, or you'll pull the phaser off target. I find it easier to do while I'm exhaling, but whatever works for you."

Jim watched Spock's nostrils flare in amusement before focusing hard on the target. Jim saw the intense focus in his eyes as he lined up the shot. It seemed like everything was going so slowly for a moment, and Jim imagined utter chaos surrounding them. Phaser shots every which way, a sparking space ship, and Spock standing calm in the middle of it for just a split second among a flurry of motion, science blues pristine and not a hair out of place.

Spock squeezed the trigger.

Jim whistled as the fruit exploded perfectly. Spock seemed to hesitate as he lowered the phaser, brow furrowed slightly. Spock was standing there in mostly grays, eyes a bit too wide as he regarded the destruction cause by the weapon in his hands.

"Again." Jim ordered.

Spock did as was asked of him.

"When it hits flesh, it doesn't do that kind of damage." Jim told him gently when he could clearly see the discomfort in his eyes. "It just stuns. Even when it's set to kill...it isn't like that. I promise."

Spock nodded, returning the phaser to him carefully. "If you are satisfied with my proficiency, I would request you allow me to tend to your hand."

Jim sighed, stuffing the phaser in his waist band and earning something of an eye-wince in response. "Relax. It won't go off accidentally. Why the heck are you so worried about my hand anyway? It'll be fine."

Spock tinted an interesting mint green. "The majority my specie's of telepathic receptors are located in the hands and fingers, Jim. It is distressing to me, illogical as it may be, due to this fact, though it holds no significance to you. It is also illogical to allow yourself to not regain full function of your faculties if you are capable of doing so."

Jim grunted noncommittally. "Okay."

… .. . .. … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**Sorry this chapter wasn't longer. It might take me a bit to get back into the swing of regular updates, but I will finish this story.**


	11. Chapter 11

**I don't own Star Trek. Enjoy.**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

"Gah!"

Uhura tensed, creeping closer to the door. That was the second distinctly human scream in as many minutes. Both from the same teenage male. She had very little doubt that it was the man they were looking for, James Kirk. The large question there was why was he screaming. She pressed her ear to the door, attempting to better hear what was going on in the other room. Sulu was scowling at her from across the garage, alternating between that and glaring at Chekov.

Chekov, who was fiddling with an alien's means of transportation when he really shouldn't be touching it.

"He's definitely injured..." Uhura whispered, trying to press closer to better hear what was happening in the kitchen.

… .. . .. …

"It appears that the bone has separated." Spock observed Jim's hand from where he was currently holding it.

Jim glared at him. "I figured that out when you grabbed it like that. Thanks."

"It will not be possible to apply traction, however I may be able to appropriately bind it in place if I was offered the opportunity to set it." Spock looked pointedly at him.

Jim sighed, smacking his forehead into the counter. "I'm almost missing Starfleet medical personnel right now."

"Indeed?"

Jim nodded, biting his lip as Spock started to gently pull on his hand to realign the bones. "All healthcare is provided through Starfleet in the Federation. Even private practices are heavily policed by them."

"Fascinating. Please stop moving your fingers."

"Sorry."

"You seem to be somewhat proficient in your medical knowledge. Do you desire work in that field?"

Jim paused a moment, caught off guard by the obvious small talk, before realizing he'd forgotten how much his hand hurt for a bit. "Uh...no. I mean, it's cool, but I like engineering better. Even more than that, I like outer-space. I had always figured I would join Starfleet...heh. So much for that."

"You can no longer join Starfleet?"

"Well, maybe if it was just running away, but I stole an experimental federation ship. That makes me a criminal. There is no way they would be lenient on me after that." Jim shrugged as best he could while trying not to move his hand. "It's okay. I probably wouldn't have made it to graduation alive, at least this way I'm out here."

A unfamiliar sensation, a pain racing through Spock's chest cavity cause him to divert his eyes. "If they were to offer you amnesty? Would you return to them if they could protect you and give you everything you wanted?"

Jim frowned. "What does it matter? They'd never offer me the chance."

Spock quickly finished setting the bone and wrapped it without another word. Jim didn't comment on his abruptness, mulling the thought over himself. He could almost understand why Spock would ask him something like that. The truth was, though, he didn't know. He _was_ there now, in space, having done so much. Could he really just go back? Content himself with at least four years staring up at the night sky and a promise that he may get there someday, in some capacity?

Spock leaned against the wall to his room, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Surak reprimand him, what had he done? Jim's place was with his people, his own kind. Jim had that opportunity, had his own people that cared for his well being. It had been selfish of him, to assume he was better suited to providing for him because he had found him in a desert. Would it be too late, then? To contact Jim's people and return him? Were they still around? Would they even want him back now? Spock felt that hot, painful sensation again and knew he had to try, either way.

… .. . .. …

Scotty was a good engineer. He was. Even if Archer wasn't too fond of the way he looked at his beagles while discussing transwarp beaming. He was a good man, too. Which is why he was deeply conflicted and desperately tortured by the note he found.

"Again..." Pike demanded, voice sounding exhausted. "Tell me that one more time."

"The lads and lass beamed down to the planet's surface using the same coordinates as we did before, except they did'naw have a transport." Scotty valiantly didn't scuff his boot on the floor. "There is a high chance they would have been noticed. Ah'm still looking at the coding the wee lad did, but it seems there was a temporary delay. Simple enough."

Pike pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. "Okay. Alright. I need a transport. Mr. Scott, a security officer, the head of medical, and that intern will be on it."

Number One nodded, jotting the information down. "I'll have the other three here in a minute for briefing."

She left the room and Scotty was left staring at a rather annoyed Captain. "Cap'n...Ah-"

"I appreciate you bringing this to me, Mr. Scott." Pike interrupted. "Other captains may have held it against you. You did the right thing though."

"Ah did'naw want to leave the wee ones in danger." Scott did scuff his shoe now, wincing a bit at the obnoxious squeak. "Ah can'naw say it wasn't my fault."

"We'll get them back Mr. Scott. Likely in one piece." Pike reassured, though the last sentence was a little more reflective of their worries than either cared to admit.

… .. . .. …

Spock was hiding in the garden. Hiding was certainly an appropriate word for it, too. He was specifically attempting to allude detection from Jim, who was attempting to make lunch in the kitchen. The small, strange communication device in his hand was not in the kitchen where it belonged, obviously.

He flipped it open, not affording himself any time of preparation. It was unbecoming of a Vulcan to need time. He had already considered his words and had no desire to muddle them further with continued consideration.

Again, there was some hissing and popping before a strange silence projected through the communicator. It was not the silence of nothing, but rather an expectant wait. Spock chided himself mentally for allowing such a fanciful distinction to cross his mind. Now he allowed himself a breath only to ensure his voice would be of an adequate timber and strength.

"I wish to speak to an official of Starfleet."

Silence. Spock furrowed his brow, wondering if perhaps there was some need to change the frequency. He had believed that this device was working properly, but perhaps he was mistaken. He was unfamiliar with the technology.

An older male voice responded. "I-i *ahem* I am the Chief Medical Officer of the-"

"I do not care about the identity of your ship." Spock reprimanded. "Are you capable of making decisions on the behalf of the Federation?"

Another long silence. "For the most part, yes."

Spock quirked an eyebrow, trying to recall Jim's understanding of that phrase, and finding it less than optimal. "I will speak to someone of a higher rank."

"Not available." The voice muttered quickly. "It'd take too long. Please just work with me."

"Very well..." Spock found himself highly intrigued by what he considered to be to long. Just what deadline was approaching? "You are searching for James Kirk, yes?"

"...Yes..." Hesitant, odd.

"If you can guarantee his safety, and that no criminal charges will be pressed, I will return him and your ship."

There. He'd said it. It was too late, now, to take it back. There was still room for negotiation, but there was no way he could pretend he had not just gone behind Jim's back, now. He only hoped he would see it was for the better, some day.

The man across the communicator inhale sharply. "Is that all?"

Spock narrowed his eyes. "Those are my terms. You are free to stipulate your own."

Another pregnant pause. "A team will be sent down to retrieve James Kirk. Do them no harm...The ship will be retrieved at a more convenient time."

Spock stilled the shaking of his hand. So it was over. The would retrieve Jim immediately and then it would be over. Not even another minute. Would Jim even want to say good bye to him? Given what he had done...was doing?

"I have no desire to cause harm to any of your kind." Spock responded honestly. "If it is at all possible, I would request Jim be remanded to the care of Starfleet, pending admission into their service."

"How do you...I can't guarantee anything, but there is a pretty good chance that we can get him in Starfleet. Do you have any other demands?"

"Not at this time, no." Spock paused only long enough to breath. "I believe it is understood that the spirit of my requests shall be honored and not just the words."

The man chuckled nervously. "Yeah. Okay. We can do that. No loophole abuse. Now...we have a few requests of you."

"You may state them and I will determine if they are feasible."

"Right. Okay...We obviously want Jim back. And the ship. And every piece of technology that came with it." The man waited until Spock affirmed that he understood before continuing. "We also wish for you to return the kids."

"Kids..." Spock frowned. "I do not know this word."

"Children, sir. We want the children back too."

Spock's eyes flew open wide and he stared down at the communicator in the faintest of horrors. "For what purpose would children be in my possession?"

"Don't play dumb." A new voice hissed. "We know they're down on the planet and that they are in your area. Any-"

The first voice cut it off sharply. "Enough. We apologize. Some time ago three children traveled to your planet without authorization. It is assumed they were attempting reconnaissance. We simply wish for their safe return, sir. They're just children."

"I was unaware of their presence..." Spock felt a chill, recalling the scream not that distant in his memory. "I will assist your retrieval team in locating them upon their arrival."

There was a soft sound, and exhalation that seemed very similar to Jim's own 'sighs of relief'. "Okay. Thank you. That's...that's perfect. You're being very kind. It will take us a few minutes to ready ourselves. We'll knock on the door when we get there."

"It is best you do not." Spock informed them. "Announcing your presence may cause alarm. The door will be open so that you may enter."

The second voice, gruffer, but softer in this second time speaking. "Just so there's no confusion or panic, what do you look like?"

"I am largely similar in appearance to your own kind, though I possess dark hair, green blood, and pointed ears." Spock replied curtly.

"Pointed ears." The gruff man hummed thoughtfully. "Okay."

… .. . .. …

"You aren't going down." A young security officer shoved a scruffy, slightly older man back down into his seat in the transport.

"The hell I'm not. They may need medical attention." He snarled.

"Something our chief medical officer," Said officer rolled his eyes when gestured to. "Is perfectly capable of."

"Eh, lads." Scotty glanced up from the control panel. "The Cap'n has approved. Says it may be a trap, though."

"Any specific orders?" The CMO asked, leaning over his shoulder to look.

"Aye. Ye and our bonny security officer are to go down. If'n ye be needing him, or either of ye are hurt, then our good Mr. McCoy is to beam down and assist you." Scotty glanced apologetically at the infuriated intern. "Ah have it all ready to go, so if ye could just step onto the transport we'll be on our way."

"Why again is the intern here?" The security officer grumbled.

"Because I'm a damn field medic, unlike all your cushy hospital medics." McCoy snapped. "Say what you want, when an angry native plunges a sword through your chest you'll be wishing I was there."

"A sword...?" The CMO twisted his face in confusion.

"Ah'll be beaming ye down now..."

… .. . .. …

Spock entered the kitchen, feeling the weight of what he had done weighing heavily on him. Jim looked up from where he was plating the food and beamed at him. Spock fell genuinely ill, and he could find no discernible reason for such a feeling, but he suspected it was brought about by the rampant emotions he was experiencing at the moment. He was also disturbed, worried that three alien children were lost somewhere on his planet. Vulcan children were not equipped for such an undertaking, let alone the foreign minds of three that were entirely unfamiliar to the planet.

"I hope you're hungry. I think I made too much." Jim shrugged happily, setting aside the still half-full pan.

Spock wiped all emotion from his face, knowing there was no easy way to do this. "I will not be eating with you."

Jim frowned. "What's wrong? Is it the ship? Because that can wait, honestly. I-"

The loud thunk of the communicator hitting the counter silenced him. Jim stared at it, suspicion momentarily visible across all his features. Slowly, it fell away. It was perhaps the first time Spock had seen him devoid of any emotion. It would make a Vulcan proud, but, as familiar as the principle was, it was truly alien, now. It was unnatural.

"What did you do?"

"What was best, Jim."

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" Jim shrieked, lunging to grab Spock by the shirt. "What have you done!"

It took all of Spock's control and training not to react to him. "Jim...It is what is best."

"You don't get to decide that for me! How did you even...What did you _do_?" Jim was hysterical, screaming.

There was a bang from the garage, softer than not, but loud enough to divert Spock attention, he yanked himself free of Jim an hurried to the door, flinging it open. Two small bodies scrambled to hide themselves. Spock found himself staring down into a pair of icy blue eyes. Did they all have blue eyes? He felt Jim at his back, the tension and anger no longer so pressing.

Jim gaped at the human child before him. "W-what...how?"

"It appears they were deposited here on accident by the ship currently orbiting my planet." Spock replied coolly, watching as the other two slowly crept out. "It was made clear to me that they were in danger just moments ago."

"Oh God." Jim fought down guilty tears. "I shouldn't have...I just assumed...What the hell are you three kids doing here?"

The two coming out froze at his outburst and the little boy in front of him flinched. Jim immediately regretted it, kneeling down. Spock watched closely as the older pair again made to leave their hiding spots.

"What happened?"

"Ve vere only helping..." Chekov glanced at Spock, curiosity alight in his eyes.

The front door slammed open loudly and Spock raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Had they been hoping not to cause alarm, that was not the way to do so. He turned to confront the Starfleet members, heading to the door of his kitchen with an air of disappointment. Jim turned to watch, scowling in light of his absent alarm. So he had agreed to let Starfleet personnel into his house?

Spock rounded the corner, and came face to face with three highly armed, aggressive young Vulcans. His shout of alarm was in Vulcan. Jim sprang to his feet, gesturing the children back even as he calculated the best response to the situation. He didn't know, just yet, what was happening, something that dangerously stunted his ability to calculate.

Spock was shoved roughly to the wall by two men even as another entered the room. Jim made to clear his phaser, but the Vulcan was faster. The gun clattered to the ground uselessly as Jim was hauled into the air, kicking and biting. A flash a blue shot past his face and he caught sight of a man in a red shirt in the doorway. Spock managed to throw off one of his attackers, but struggled with the second. The now disentangled man turned to the security officer taking aim again and grabbed his neck. The officer fell.

Jim howled in alarm, feeling the arms around him tighten.

Spock slammed into the Vulcan towering over the felled man. A high pitched scream alerted Jim to something very wrong and he turned to see the third Vulcan lifting the little blue eyed boy into his arms with ease. The two said something to each other and both Jim and the boy were being whisked out of the room. A human in a blue shirt was taking shots as best he could, but hesitated so as not to harm the hostages.

The Vulcan with the little boy felled him in the same way as the security personnel. Spock made to stop them and froze with a surprised gasp. Green blood started to seep through the front of his shirt. The Vulcan behind him panted, jerking his bladed weapon free. The two eyed him awkwardly before hurrying out the door.

"Spock!" Jim screamed, struggling, reaching back.

The last thing he saw before a hand descended on his neck, followed by darkness, was Spock bleeding out on the ground.

… .. . .. …

McCoy swore, kneeling next to the bleeding out figure on the ground. He was distinctly concerned for the two unconscious men, but they weren't bleeding, and they appeared to be breathing easily. The alien in front of him, however, was bleeding from the chest. All the way through, it looked by the nature of the wound. He was surprised, though, to find no heart there when he applied some pressure. It didn't take long to locate the organ in the lower part of his torso.

With a sigh, he rolled his sleeves up, glancing again over the carnage around him. "What the hell happened here?"

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**What the hell indeed. Sorry once again for the long delay. We'll see that it goes a bit quicker next time...by which I mean I'll kick my butt into gear and crank out another chapter hopefully soon.**


	12. Chapter 12

**I don't own Star Trek.**

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"Let me out! Let me out of here! I swear I'll fucking kill you when I get my hands on you!" Jim screamed, pounding on a clear door looking out into an empty lab.

It was probably a good thing no one could understand him, given the first impression he was making. A few Vulcans had been in and out in the past...well...few hours. Jim had only woken up recently, but he was well aware that he had already spent far too long in his little hamster prison.

He sat down on the little cot provided, hanging his head in his hands. The last thing he remembered was Spock bleeding out.

"Oh god." Jim whimpered, shaking a little. "What the hell have I done?"

The far door, outside his containment unit opened and Jim's head snapped up. His blood started to boil and he threw himself at the plastic wall, screaming and shouting murder. Amanda froze in her tracks for a moment, waiting until he'd worn himself silly and slunk to the ground, panting and sobbing. Wordlessly she came forward and opened the door to his prison. He glared up defiantly at her, knowing full well no good would come from attacking her, his blue eyes red and full of hate.

"_Lam-tor."_ She ordered.

'Stand' Jim translated, slowly rising to his feet.

Just because she looked to be alone didn't mean he wouldn't be out for another god knows how long if he tried anything. She pointed wordlessly to the medical bed in the middle of the room and Jim eyed it suspiciously, glancing towards the door. She quickly cut off that line of thought by stepping directly into his line of vision and pointing again at the bed. They both knew he wasn't going anywhere.

"Bitch." He snapped, hopping up.

Amanda gave him a sideways look as she picked up an odd device. She pressed a button on it and it began blinking. A few rattled off words in Vulcan and she pressed the button again, shutting it off. It was most likely, Jim decided, a recording device. She turned around to him maturely making faces behind her back and muttered something else into the recording device.

Jim tensed as she approached him, the device shut off. Whatever happened next was off the record for the moment. Fantastic. He tried to kick her and she gave him an unimpressed look before raising her hand and approaching again. Alarm and confusion racked Jim's expressions as she pressed her hand to his face. He jerked back, managing to send himself off the end of the bed, hitting the ground with a loud smack. She watched him struggle to his feet a moment before announcing something to the recording device. She had set it down by the time he got to his feet, the bed between them.

"Sit down already." She snapped, her face impassive.

Jim growled. "Where is the kid? What did you do with him?"

Amanda paused, looking guilty for only a split second. "He is resting and has been given provisions. It was decided you would be more likely to be helpful. Vulcans generally do not want to harm children in any way."

"Generally." Jim scoffed. "Why did you pretend to meld with me?"

"So that I could accurately report that I was unable to meld with you." There was a mischievous, conspiratorial glint in Amanda's eyes. "No one else is likely to try again soon. So you need not fear communicating freely with me, though I won't respond if there are any witnesses."

Jim nodded awkwardly. "Thank you...for that..."

"You are welcome." She watched as Jim leaned heavily on the bed. "You are still recovering from the nerve pinch. It would be best if you relaxed and sat back down."

Jim tensed. "You're a real class act. How the hell could you do that? I guess all mothers are the same, selfish bitches."

Amanda looked momentarily surprised, before anger took over. "Look here you brat. I don't know what you _think_ I did but I can guarantee I had less to do with this than you did. When I found out what happened..." She hesitated, anger dissipating in favor of sorrow. "When I found out I...I didn't know what to do. How could I ask them about it? How could I do anything? It was a wonder I convinced them that I was qualified to be the one to investigate you."

He hesitated. "If you didn't then who? How?"

"From what little I heard, it was a combination of coordinating on your crash, a detection of strange energy signatures, and some communication frequency." She sighed. "If I had known this would happen I would have confronted Spock about you...or told Sarek."

"Spock's father?" Jim shook his head. "Never mind. What are we going to do? We need to help Spock."

"Help?"

"...Last I saw he was bleeding out on the ground." Jim looked away so he wouldn't have to see the look of horror on her face.

Amanda's voice was tight when she spoke. "I'll see what we can do. For now, though, I need to give you a physical. I can't just stop my job."

Jim scrambled up onto the bed. "My head hurts."

"It's going to."

… .. . .. …

"...Can't imagine what he was thinking...no, I've got it...like hell you..." A gruff and disgruntled voice broke through the miasma surrounding Spock's thoughts.

He thought perhaps he recognized the voice, but the language it was speaking seemed very strange and he couldn't remember why. His chest hurt. Spock concentrated on that. He had been stabbed. This was somewhat alarming only in that he had been subjected to violence. The wound was likely to be healed after a few days in a meditative trance. Why had he been stabbed?

"Jim!" Spock jolted up bolt right, the immense pain that caused being ignored.

Three clearly alien men and two children turned to look at him, curiously. Two of the men, dressed in blue and red respectively, were holding their heads, glaring. They were, he recalled immediately, Starfleet personnel. Spock couldn't help his curiosity, finding that two of the men glaring down at him had very brown eyes. One, the one in red, had curiously green eyes. Apparently not all aliens had blue eyes.

"Don't even think about getting up." The gruff man, dressed surprisingly causally in comparison to what seemed to be uniforms, pushed him back into a laying position.

"Who are you?"

They all hesitated, sharing odd looks before the gruff man sighed. "Leonard McCoy. I'm an intern doctor. How did you learn standard so fast?"

Spock sat back up, face stoic. "I am a touch telepath. Though it is not frequent in my species, it not altogether unusual. I came in contact with Jim's mind while housing him..."

"Fantastic." McCoy sighed, scrubbing at his face. "What the hell happened here?"

"I am unsure." Spock found himself staring at the two smaller aliens in his sitting room, both of which were staring right back. "It would appear that my deception and the act of harboring an alien life form was discovered by my compatriots. I can only hypothesize about how this was done."

"Great. What did your guys do to my superiors?"

Spock turned to eye the two men still supporting their heads and tenderly applying pressure to their bruised necks. "They performed a nerve pinch on them. It is largely harmless. Their cognitive functions will likely return in a few hours."

"Do you have any idea how long we were unconscious?" The man in blue hissed. "Harmless my ass."

"Where is the blue eyed child?" Spock ignored him.

The man in red grimaced. "Gone. The same as Kirk. They probably kept him too."

Spock stared down at the bandaging around his chest, eyes half-focused on the green blot seeping through. "I see. Very well. I will do what I can to assist in retrieving this child."

"And how the hell do you expect to do that?" McCoy snapped, oblivious to the two children flinching behind him. "In case you haven't noticed your own guys stabbed you in the chest. You're stupider than a road lizard if you think they'll let you just walk in and take them back."

Spock cocked his head to the side, eyebrow winged up. "That was not my intent."

"Than what?" The man in blue frowned. "Just how do you plan to get them back?"

"It is likely that I know where they are being held." Spock stood, straightening himself out. "I can get them out of the facility. What you do then is at your own discretion."

McCoy glanced at the people in the kitchen before nodding. "I'm going with you then."

"No!" The man in red stood, and promptly sank back to sitting. "Oh god that hurts...no way. You can not do this. We need to beam back up and get a real team together and handle this properly."

McCoy narrowed his eyes at him. "You and the kids are beaming up. Fine. I am this man's acting physician and according to Starfleet ordinance-"

"I know the ordinance." The blue dressed man hissed. "Shit. McCoy. Do you have any idea what will happen to us if you get caught too? We are going to get murdered by the brass."

McCoy shrugged. "I do not care. They could need help. I'm not Starfleet personnel so there's really nothing you can do about it."

"We'll go too!" The young boy announced.

"No." Three voices chimed at once, causing both of Spock's eyebrows to rocket up.

"Why not?" The dark skinned girl hissed. "We're perfectly capable."

"Not yet you aren't." McCoy scowled.

"I will not be accompanied by anyone." Spock ground the discussion to a halt. "I will not further endanger any of you. It goes against my agreement."

McCoy growled. "Now look here you point-eared menace. I'm not giving you an option. And I'm not one of the original team so you don't even get to pull that card. So if you think for even one minute that I'm going to just let you walk off and handle this on your own when you have no training, no experience, and no damn plan...You have no idea how you're going to get out of there, let alone in to begin with."

"Mr. McCoy I do not-"

"Shut up."

Spock managed by no small measure to not be affronted. He simply stopped, fixing the young doctor-to-be with a scathingly flat look. McCoy returned it with a bit more heat.

"This discussion is over. As of right now you have no say in what I do. If we want any chance of getting them back, we need to work now. Let Starfleet handle the process of cleaning up here. We're going to get the Kirk boy and Chekov back." McCoy announced firmly.

Spock looked over the aliens in his house. It should be overwhelming. This was his dream, to be able to interact with alien species. The ship in his garden, the easy communication, everything. He didn't want to give it up, this odd interaction. He didn't want to give Jim up. He knew now, without a doubt, if Jim had asked him to go with him, he would. He would follow Jim to the stars.

Spock nodded, once. "Very well. We will make a plan and we will retrieve Jim and the child."

"Now wait one minute!" The man in red grumbled. "If you think for even one minute we're just going to sit by and condone this-"

"Scotty, four to beam up." McCoy interrupted. "I'm staying. Make sure to get the kids back where they belong."

"You sonuva-" The doctor was cut off as he was beamed out.

McCoy glanced back to see the wide eyed, impressed look that Spock couldn't hide. "Pick up your jaw. It ain't that great an experience. Now, we're going to be busier than a one legged man at an ass kicking contest. Let's get some thing to drink and let's start planning."

"Indeed." Spock struggled to hide the mildly perturbed, overwhelmed look on his face.

… .. . .. …

"Meester Kirk!"

Jim knelt down, allowing the small, strange blond child to wrap him up in a hug. He wasn't much of a kid person. Hell, he was still a kid himself, but damn it...this kid needed a hug. Jim knew exactly what that felt like. He wasn't even really sure how the kid knew his name, but that was hardly important at the moment when they were both captive in a mysterious alien facility. The supposedly peaceful, science based facility, not the prison it actually was.

Right. Peaceful. Not supposed to have emotion. Don't like violence. Who fed Spock that line? Because a spear to the chest and kidnapping, rather than sitting down to talk like damn adults was real high society and crystal spires of them. Jim hefted the little boy into his arms and stood up, turning to look at Amanda.

"I can stay with him, right?"

She pursed her lips, glancing down the hall before nodding. "For now."

The little boy in his arms tensed and then muttered something that sounded distinctly Russian to Jim's ears. He really needed to work on his earth languages, rather than just aliens. She left them and Jim scooted over to the cot, sitting down. The boy shuffled off his lap immediately, but kept surprisingly close.

"So...you know who I am?"

"Da. I came here aboard ze ship vith ze Keptin Pike."

Jim winced. "They sent Pike after me? Figures. So who are you and why did Pike let you down here?"

"He did not do so..." The boy glanced away guiltily. "I am Pavel Chekov."

"Okay Pavel." Jim smiled as reassuringly as he could. "Why don't you tell me everything that's happened up on the ship?"

Pavel pouted, looking thoughtful. "You will share vhat you are knowing about dis planet, da?"

Jim smirked, settling back against the wall. "Yeah. I think I can do that."

… .. . .. …

Pike groaned, resting his head in his hand even as he leaned heavily on the table. A weaker man might have been sobbing. As was, Pike was very, very close.

"Ah knew nothing about this." Scotty pointed out.

"Not now, Mr. Scott. Not now."

"Um...we-" Sulu started.

"No. I don't want excuses. I just don't...Just...out. Everyone out right now. I need to contact the admirals." Pike groaned again, rubbing at his head to alleviate his headache. "Get out."

Three properly chastised adults and two thoroughly reprimanded children trudged out under the watchful eye of Pike's second in command. She gave Pike one last measuring look before exiting the room to handle the currently in trouble troupe. Pike took to staring up at the ceiling, as if it would provide some kind of information he desperately needed. He spun his chair a few times, not finding the center he had been hoping for. If anything, it just made him dizzy and added onto his headache.

"Damn it Jim." Pike sighed. "You'll make me gray too soon and have me in an early grave from a heart attack."

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**Super short, I know. I'm sorry. But at least I got it up pretty soon? I might just have to stick to shorter chapters for a while in order to get back into any kind of schedule. Hopefully this is a good enough chapter to make that satisfying anyway.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I don't own Star Trek.**

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Jim snapped awake, heart racing. His eyes focused on the form standing at the door. Gently, Jim scooted Chekov out of the safe circle of his arms and eased into a defensive position. The lights slid up gently, until a dim glow filled the room. Jim immediately recognized the man standing before him. Spock's father.

He didn't relax.

"It is a few hours before anyone will be here to continue studying you." The man announced summarily, voice oddly quiet.

Jim realized he was trying not to wake the human child. "What do you want?"

"I wish to speak to you about my son."

Jim glanced down at Chekov before sighing and standing up. "It's a complicated story."

"I am sure." He paused, considering Jim for a moment. "You did not wish to cause him harm."

"No!" Jim hissed, horrified. He glanced guiltily at Chekov as the boy whimpered in his sleep. "Of course I don't want him hurt. I care about him."

This alien considered him for a moment, something strange in those emotionless eyes. "You have spent considerable time with my son. I understand this. You are aware of what he is."

Jim nodded. "More than that, I know how much he wants to be out there. He belongs in the stars...I was going to take him with me. From what I understand, he was doing what he could to help me fix my life."

"From what I have understood of the report made, there were humans dressed in the uniform of your Federation." He noticed the surprised look and raised an eyebrow. "I have been married to a human for longer than you have been alive. It would be odd that I was not aware of these things."

Jim pursed his lips. "Okay...I know a bit about how developed your society is. This isn't the best way to handle it, but...Spock was about ten years from making a functional Warp drive."

Space-elf Sr.'s eyes flew open wide. "Indeed?"

Jim smiled. "Maybe, yeah. He's kind of amazing."

He looked away a moment and Jim thought maybe that was pride he saw in his eyes. "This is pleasing. It is regrettable he shall never be allowed the opportunity to do so."

Jim looked down at the ground, feeling his heart sink. "I don't know how he is, but...if he survives...I'll find a way to make all of this right. I promise I will fix the mistakes I caused."

He eyed him a moment. "This has been a mistake a long time in the making."

Jim gave him a sideways look. "Spock is not a mistake."

"He most certainly is not. However, hiding the Federation from my peers was not wise."

"How did Amanda get here, anyway?"

The Vulcan subtly not-glared at him. "I am still displeased with the fact that you aimed a weapon at my wife."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Fantastic. What's your name again?"

"Sarek." He announced. "You could not speak more than that."

"And how did your wife get here?"

Sarek eyed him a moment before glancing at the child. "She was a member of a research ship. It was damaged and her escape ship crash landed here. She was the only survivor."

"And you found her, destroyed her ship, buried the dead, and nursed her back to health?" Jim surmised.

Sarek paused before nodding. "She was...fascinating."

Jim fought down a smirk. "And you decided you would keep her."

Sarek narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. "It would seem humans are recurrently quite agreeable and winsome."

Jim batted his eyelashes sarcastically. "Am I charming?"

"No."

Jim scowled. "So what now?"

"I suspect you will have to rethink your career choices."

"Not that." Jim growled. "I meant this. I...I can't communicate with you or your wife. I can't speak through you or I will get you in trouble, but I need to make a scene, and fast. My Vulcan isn't that good."

"This is not abnormal."

"Hey!" Jim whispered harshly. "You don't know how smart I am."

Sarek cocked his head to the side. "It took Amanda some time to learn the language. I do not suspect you would find it considerably more intuitive."

Jim rubbed at his face, sitting down on the bed and glancing down at the boy sleeping there. What must it be like to trust people that easily? He couldn't help but envy him, how innocent and kind the little boy had proven to be. When he looked back at Sarek, he was watching him closely.

"I need time."

"This I can give you." Sarek nodded.

"Do you actually believe I can fix this?"

"I believe you are exceptional, even for a human"

Jim raised a hand in a human salute. "Thank you..." What he muttered next was a string of sounds he spent hours upon hours of learning, and then Sarek's first name.

Sarek raised a set of impressed eyebrows and offered a proper Vulcan salute in return. "And you as well..."

"James Tiberius Kirk."

… .. . .. …

"Just what is that?"

Uhura squeaked, glancing up at Scotty sheepishly. "Nothing."

"That's a lie lassy."

She blushed dully as he settled in next to her, an amused look on his face. "It isn't important, really."

"Then ye won't mint sharing." He grinned. "Come now, tell me what ye've done."

She sighed, pushing three sets of papers towards him. "These are some of the papers from Spock's house."

Scotty gave her a surprised look. "Ye just can't follow the rules, can ye?"

She smirked a little, trying to look ashamed. "Well, but anyway, these are the one's he was writing with Kirk. You can see both of their hand writing, and a few translations here and there. That's the important part. And these, they are from a note book of Spock's. I...sort of flitched them when he wasn't looking."

"And this last set of notes?"

"Those are translations. I think I'm getting the language, but it's really awkward and difficult, and I can't understand a single thing of what I'm translating it into. It's...well, there are some equations that the symbols mean very little to me, but I know them. Or, rather, I know their translations." Uhura passed him the paper.

Scotty looked it over indulgently. "Oh aye, that's marvelous wo-dear lord. Ye honestly have no-? No. Of course you wouldn't...Lass you genius, I could kiss ye for this work."

She looked at him a moment like he was out of his mind before blushing furiously. "It's not that impressive. I just worked with what they had already done."

Scotty was already on his feet. "Well don't just sit there. We've got ta tell the Cap'n."

Uhura quickly scrambled to her feet and followed him, rushing back a moment to pick up the rest of her papers and then dart after him.

… .. . .. …

"Is this Kirk boy really worth all this?" McCoy sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Spock glared at him. "He is. Are you no longer interested in saving the child?"

"No, I'll do it." McCoy paced the living room, tapping an absent beat against his leg. "I will. I'm just worried. This plan of yours...are you sure it will work?"

"I have detailed the plan as best I am capable." Spock informed him, rolling up the maps of the Vulcan science institute. "There are likely to be unforeseen elements that can not be prepared for. However, I believe we stand a fairly significant change of succeeding. Approximately-"

"No more statistics!" McCoy barked. "I get it."

They stared across the living room at each other for several moments. McCoy was waiting for him to say something else. The fact that there was nothing to really say, at this point, was some what mute. They waited a moment longer before McCoy left for the kitchen, getting something to eat. Spock followed silently.

This human standing in his kitchen was entirely different than the one he was accustom to. He did not smile brighter than the sun beating down on the Vulcan forge. His eyes were not so blue that the world around them seemed gray. His hair was not like golden starlight. Yet the same red sand blood flooded his veins. The same rounded ears and peach skin were as clear as day. The same slow, alien heartbeat filled the same alien chest. So different, and yet still so fascinatingly foreign in such a similar way. And something, still like a memory holding just beyond his grasp.

"Doctor McCoy?"

McCoy glanced up. "'M not a doctor just yet...What do you need?"

"Do you think, if my people had been a part of your Federation, I would have found a place there?"

McCoy stared down at the counter. "Sometimes I'm not sure there's really a definitive place for anyone. You just have to make your own place. You can still make one. But for now...for now you sound pretty sure that your place is standing next to Jim. So we save him and you stick to him. No matter what happens next."

Spock nodded. "Rest. You did not rest last night. We will make our move tonight. Until then, rest."

McCoy rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yes commander."

Spock considered that a moment before nodding. "I think you will find, when you meet him, that Jim will easily sway you to his side. He commands the utmost loyalty. It is his desire to be a Captain, one day. I will make it so."

McCoy smirked. "Now that sounds like the one ship I might just be interested in. If space weren't just a wide, dark pit of death and slow starvation."

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "I do not believe I wish to speak to you about space."

… .. . .. …

It was with the sudden, blinding brightness of a full blown light bouncing around a starkly white, _shiny_ room that Jim was reminded why he hated having a time he had to get up. He had to admit he was surprised the little boy had slept the entire night, given the abnormal length of days, but he supposed it had been something of a day before. The alien man standing outside the room had a tray with him, most likely bearing food.

Jim really wanted to be pissed off and continue fussing and being the ultimate pain in the ass, but as he watched Chekov yawn he hesitated. It wouldn't be too big a loss for Jim if he went without food for a few hours, but he wasn't going to do that to a kid.

With gritted teeth, Jim raised his hands up, placing the back of his wrists against the wall above him. Chekov looked at him curiously, rubbing his eyes before doing similar. His little arms didn't quite reach and Jim smirked down at him. When the alien opened the door, hesitantly, his little blue eyes lit up and he seemed to realize the cause of Jim's actions. The alien eyed them as he placed the food tray in a far corner and started to back out the door.

"I think he's scared of you." Jim muttered, hip checking the kid.

Chekov giggled, hands flying to his mouth. The alien jerked to look at him, eyes wide in what was obviously surprise. Emotionless, Jim's ass. If these guys were emotionless then Jim was asexual. The alien started to back out faster in alarm, his attention riveted on the giggling child. Jim just stretched out a little. The man stumbled back over his leg and went ass over teakettle out the door. Jim started laughing as he scrambled to his feet. He shut the door with enough force to rattle the room and ran as hard and fast as he could down the hall.

Jim and Chekov both stopped laughing abruptly, turning to share a mischievous grin before starting to chuckle again. That done, he moved on to inspecting the fruit platter. A few he knew were no good he set aside. He avoided the stupid not-kiwi and started explaining things to Chekov. It was relieving to know the kid had no allergies.

"Vhat are ve going to do?" Chekov mumbled around a mouthful of fruit.

Jim didn't care to scold him. "I'm planning something. Don't worry. No matter what happens, I'll get you out of here."

"How?" He pouted. "Vhat vill you do to get out? Ve are having no vay to communicate."

"Well..." Jim grimaced. "It won't be ideal, but I've got a few ideas. I just need to time it right. I...I'm pretty good with computers and I'm going to cause a hell of a mess for them. When I do that, you'll need to run. Keep hidden as best you can, get out."

Chekov considered it a moment before nodding. "I also hawe computer skills. I vill help if I can."

Jim grinned, ruffling his hair. "Only if you need to. I can't teach you their computer language, so you'll just have to rip wires if you find yourself trapped somewhere."

"Da. I vill do."

"Good." Jim smiled, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

He noticed with a note of shock that he was wearing his Federation shirt and his jeans. That was right, he had decided to wear it that morning. It seemed like such a funny thing, now. Go figure, he'd be standing there in Starfleet clothing, looking only marginally less alien than in his flight suit.

It was only a few more minutes before Amanda arrived. Chekov hesitated to let Jim go, but he did when Jim knelt in front of him, blue eyes stern. "I'll come back ensign. Take the Conn until then."

Chekov stood up straight, puffing out his chest a little as he did so. "Aye Keptin."

It wasn't until they were halfway down the hall that she asked. "Captain?"

"I'm the captain." Jim agreed. "Chekov is going to be my navigator, or maybe head engineer. Spock is my science officer and my first officer. I still need a doctor, a pilot, and a communications officer."

Amanda eyed him for a moment, considering what he had just told her. "I understand the illusion for the child. He clearly adores Starfleet and playing games is key for humans...but why Spock? Why include him?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "I think, even someone as grounded in logic as Spock needs to dream. Without a fantasy, without some burning want, how can people advance? Even if it's just make believe, playing pretend, there's a want there. If he can't even imagine himself in the stars, then he'll never get there. I just...offered a way to make that dream a little more real."

"Aliens without warp capabilities can not be members of the Federation, Jim." Amanda looked sideways at him, only curious.

Jim gave her an amused smirk. She didn't say anything else as she directed him into the examination room. She made a good show of measuring his vitals and recording useless information.

"So..." Jim casually tossed her a look as he righted himself to be returned to the holding cell. "There wouldn't happen to be any way to access some important piece of technology from the inside of a specimen cell, would there?"

She paused from where she was putting away her devices, a look of surprise and horror on her face. "You can't be serious."

He grinned. "Just a question."

Amanda pursed her lips, turning away as she attempted to struggle with the thought she was having. "I...wouldn't say that was something ever considered at the Vulcan Science Academy. I do not think anyone would take particular measures to ensure it was inaccessible. There would be no direct panels intended for access though."

"Hm." Jim nodded sagely. "I see. Shame. They really might want to look into that if they ever plan on dealing with more aliens."

"Jim." Amanda's tone was serious, warning. "I won't help you. They already hurt my son. I can't risk them hurting my husband too. If Spock is...if you get away from here you take him with you if you can."

"I will." Jim started to the door. "And someday I'll tell him all about you..."

"Greyson." She whispered. "My name is Amanda Greyson."

"James Kirk." He paused. "I'll make sure he knows his family Ms. Greyson...and they know that you're out here."

She nodded. "Let's go."

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**Short chapter. At least it didn't take a month to get up...It's winding up to a close soon. I'm not sure if I want to make this next chapter long and end on it or maybe two small chapters. It depends on how the chapter develops.**


	14. Chapter 14

**I don't own Star Trek. Sorry this took so long to get up.**

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

"Keep watch." Jim ordered, planting Chekov firmly in front of the door.

Chekov nodded firmly. "Da Keptin."

Jim hid himself in the corner. Night time as it may have been, he wasn't going to risk getting spotted. The wall panel around the vent was almost seamless, but he found it. He couldn't get his fingers in though, and glanced at Chekov. Nope. He needed nails if he wanted to get it off that way. Well, now he definitely needed to be careful.

"Things are going to get loud in a second." Jim announced.

Chekov nodded, giving him a dubious look. Jim braced himself on the far wall. He kicked the wall hard. Chekov turned slowly to give him a horrified look at the loud bang. Jim shooed his attention back to the door. A few more swift kicks and Jim grumbled, inching back to the wall. It had slid a little and was banging about when he prodded it. Perfect. The awkward construction meant percussive maintenance did something.

"Someone is coming!" Chekov hissed, diving for the bed.

Jim stood and raced to the other side of the room. By the time the alien arrived, it just saw him punching a wall. The alien eyed him through the door. Jim glared at him for a moment before returning to punching the wall. The alien tapped the door and said something to him. He ignored it. Space-elf the extra said something louder, banging a bit more forcefully on the door. Jim glanced down at his hand and a mischievous grin slip up his face.

He walked slowly to the door, and the alien, different than the one that morning that he had tripped, didn't reach. So he wasn't afraid of Jim. Good. Jim didn't want it to be too easy. He ran a hand over his fist, cracking the knuckles. Still nothing. Jim leaned closer smiling. Nothing. Abruptly, he slammed his palm into the door. Mr. Stiff didn't react...not at first at least. His eyes traveled to the bloody palm pressed to the door, bright red and horrifyingly alien.

He ran.

"Back on the door." Jim ordered, crouching by the slightly looser panel.

Chekov bounced up and over, standing watch without a bit of concern over the bloody hand print. Jim kicked the panel one more time. It rattled, defeated, and Jim scooted over to begin prying. His fingers were a bit bloodier than he had hoped, but wiggling it free was going far better than he would have ever hoped. As the first panel peeled back with an awful screech, Jim winced. It would be far to loud to dismantle the entire room. He used his new opening, however, to wriggle an arm in and removed part of the duct.

Blindly, with his face pressed against the cold wall and his fingers groping around among wires, Jim set to work. This system wasn't operated by sound, however. Jim grunted, shifting himself as much closer as he could to follow the wires around. He'd opened more secure doors before. And, to an extent, Vulcans didn't think that differently than most other aliens. More importantly, they didn't think too differently than Starfleet engineers. Too logical, too efficient to circumvent his type of thinking.

The door popped open with a hiss.

"Ah!" Chekov bounced in place. "Iz fantastic vork!"

"Good enough anyway." Jim agreed. "We travel together for now. I need to get you a bit closer to 'out' before I head off to do my solemn duty of causing trouble."

Jim grabbed the younger boy's hand and began leading him through the darkened halls. It was hardly safe, but what choice did he have? He caught sight of the lab and paused, closing his eyes and centering himself. He remembered, fuzzily, a discussion he had with Spock one night. Spock was explaining the Vulcan Science Academy to him. Pictures of the sweeping halls and high vaulted ceilings that bespoke of old traditions.

And Spock, telling him insane details about the grounds. Jim asked him how long he had spent wandering the facility, familiarizing himself with it. Spock's face fell, showing emotions Jim had come to realize he was slowly allowing himself more comfort with.

The truth was, Spock was never allowed to wander the grounds. He'd been walked straight from a back entrance to the labs, always out of sight and always away from his 'peers' to reduce alarm. All he had ever truly seen of the academy was a single hallway, modern and sleek and so utterly detached of his heritage. He showed Jim the program on his computer, a digital walk through detailing the place. The closest Spock had ever been to the closest thing he had to a history was the pixels on his screen. Jim had felt no small modicum of outrage. He'd asked Spock to tell him, again, and again, and again. Each time Spock described the entry to the lab, Jim would feel a renewed flush of anger.

The final time, he's squeezed Spock's hand, closing his eyes as he listened.

He could picture it clearly, those back halls and the sterile, silent walk. He remembered telling him, vividly, that he'd never have to walk through those back halls like that again. Ever. He'd never take some sad trip, hiding from the world around him.

Jim snapped his eyes open and started down a hall. "There is a back exit this way. Spock told me about it."

Chekov nodded, following obediently. Jim paused when he came to the door Spock told him about. It was almost a straight shot after that, a few turns, but if he stayed in the hall and didn't head down any side paths, he'd be out. Jim knelt down, placing his hands on his shoulders and looking him square in the eyes.

"You did good ensign. I need you to head straight through this hall. Don't even think about coming back for me. That's an order." Jim shook his head when he opened his mouth to protest. "My first duty is to get you back to Captain Pike safely. I have to head to a computer room so I can get the message out. I'm not going to let you die in the desert, but it could get dangerous here and I need you to trust me and get out."

"Yes Keptin." Chekov murmured faintly, big eyes watering.

Jim rapped his knuckles on his chin. "You've got this."

Chekov hugged him, fiercely. For a moment, Jim was stunned. No one ever hugged him. He returned the gesture hesitantly, before gently pushing him back. When he stood, he had to blink sharply to hide some tears of his own. He sent the boy down the hall with out another word. He wasted no time in accessing the shoddy map in his head, running somewhat haphazardly to the central communication office. A message and a distraction was all he could offer him, but he was going to give it.

… .. . .. …

Chekov hissed, glancing around for a door or nook to hide in. Those were definitely footsteps. He'd only been away from Jim for three minutes and he was already so close to being caught. He couldn't fail his interim captain that badly. Crouched low, he peered around the next corner. They hadn't reached that point yet, who ever was walking. He spotted a small closet, though. It was possible he could make it there before they rounded the corner, but it would be close.

Without any hesitation, Chekov sprinted straight for the door. He slapped the button to open it and slid under the slow rising panel before it had time to do much of anything. It halted, confused by the indication of something passing through its sensors, leaving it open just a foot off the ground. Chekov laid down, peering out into the dark hall.

So close now. Whoever was walking, they mush have been trying to keep quiet, because their footsteps were odd. A pair of boots came into view, followed closely by another. Chekov held his breath, watching as they crept through the hall. Maybe two guards that had gone out for a break when they weren't supposed to? They weren't talking, so clearly they didn't want to get caught. The first pair of boots paused, then crept a bit closer towards the supply closet, possibly having seen the open gap and becoming curious as to why.

Chekov's chest burned, but he diligently held his breath. He couldn't get caught here. The second pair of boots tapped impatiently and the first turned as though he were looking at him. With a moment of horror, Chekov pictured him shutting the closet, likely trapping him inside.

The boots started away though, likely deciding that, if he closed it, it might make too much noise and he would be caught.

Chekov let out a shaky sigh before trying to quietly gasp for breath as the footsteps faded. That had not been the most pleasant experience for him. He decided he would wait for his heart to stop racing and for the footsteps to disappear completely before he tried to exit. When he could no longer hear anyone, he poked his head out, peering around a bit before squirming out of the closet and starting down the hallway.

He got about six steps when a hand gripped his shoulder. Another promptly slapped over his mouth when he opened it and he was pulled against a taller man's chest to still his squirming.

"Pavel." McCoy hissed. "Calm down kid. It's just me."

When that finally sank in, Chekov slumped in his arms, turning to give him a look consisting of equal parts curiosity and glare. McCoy released him and turned him about, an apologetic grin on his face. Spock was standing behind him, having only come back from the band part way so he could keep watch.

"Spock iz aliwe!" Chekov whispered excitedly, before furrowing his brow. "Vhat are you doing here?"

"We were looking for you and Kirk. How did you get out here?"

"Ah. Keptin Kirk got us out of our cell." Chekov announced proudly.

McCoy gave Spock a scathing look, but he simply raised an eyebrow in return. "And just where is Kirk now Pavel?"

"He vas going for communication room to make broadcast to Captain Pike so I vould not be lost in desert." Chekov pouted. "He'z intent vas to cause big distraction."

"Oh hell..." McCoy glanced back at Spock. "I can't go after him. Not with Chekov here. He's my priority."

"I understand doctor." Spock looked seconds from bolting. "I will retrieve Jim myself. Secure the child and ensure his safety first. I have the original communicator and will alert you provided I am capable of releasing Jim."

"Godspeed." McCoy nodded.

He was on his feet and racing back tot he exit as fast as his feet would take him, Chekov already scooped up into his arms. He couldn't run fast with him for long, but right now speed, not discretion, was the better part of valor. He could hear Spock's feet thundering off in the opposite direction and knew he had no worry about being the one to expose their presence. Between the litany of curses running through his mind, however, he sent up a silent prayer to any god that might still be keeping their ears peeled for a Georgia boy that Spock would make it.

… .. . .. …

Jim liked to think he knew a lot about aliens. He even would go so far as to say he didn't find them all that alien. During one of his many bouts of reclusivness and possibly depression, he had spent considerable time learning about architecture. Just looking through the pictures, thinking about exotic places, daydreaming about an escape, or at least a vacation. And he had seen some particularly strange things. Awful things, in some cases, and down right bizarre. Things that looked more like a post-modern piece of the late 1990's (he had dabbled in art for a while too) or a surrealist painting by the questionably great Klingon painter Koloth.

All of those, while distinctly alien, had some point that had made them easily understandable. Perhaps it was because they were so alien.

But here, wandering through the halls of the Vulcan Science Academy, weaving about as he made his way to the central communication room, Jim was struck by how very _human_ it all seemed. These parts of the building had been designed to harken back to the historical style of Vulcan architecture, rather than their modern and efficient design. And through any door it would likely be replaced by such. Here, though, in those halls, Jim found it almost suffocating, how genuinely similar it all seemed. That, perhaps more than any different thing with no points of comparison, made it seem so unnervingly alien. Jim knew this place, felt it resonate deeply inside him in a terrifyingly primal way. He wondered if perhaps this was how the first Homo sapiens, just beginning to gain an understanding of the world around them, viewed their not-quite brethren Homo erectus.

Were they as taken aback, as frightened to their core? Did it make them feel the wild irrationality that Jim struggled to quell? And, not understanding why something could be so different and yet so eerily similar, did they lash out? Some small part of Jim screamed at him to destroy what was around him, because it wasn't _human_.

Jim was a better man than that, a more rational man. But he couldn't shake that deep distrust that welled in him, caused by the wrongness he found around him. With enough time, he told himself, he could have come to accept the incongruent little differences, made even more real, more different, by the similarities. It was with a bitter thought he considered he might have just that time, but not the exposure.

Though far eerier and more imposing than the computer simulation, Jim recognized well enough where he was.

Just a bit longer and he would reach his destination. Provided he didn't trip any alarms, he was mostly safe in this part of the college. There would be little reason for guards throughout this section of the building, given the peaceful nature of the society. Jim had no doubt that the Vulcan he had sent scurrying earlier, however, had sought back up and even now they could be searching the lab for them. He hoped Chekov had gotten out alright.

How far away was dawn? Jim had waited a while into the night, ensuring the last stragglers had finally turned in to reduce the likelihood of capture. Now, though, surely it was getting farther into the night than he was comfortable with. How early did people arrive? Were their morning classes just around dawn, like at the Starfleet Academy? Did professors show up before it really counted as morning to prepare their lectures? Jim wouldn't think so, given what he knew of Spock, but then again...

He picked up his pace just a bit more.

Eerie as the building was, Jim sort of loved it. Even with the strange loathing in the pit of his stomach, there was wonder too, excitement and adventure. As deep seated as his inherent hatred of different was, as rooted as it was in his DNA, so was a need to explore it. He craved the difference, because only mixed with that primal fear would he find something that could quench his primal need to explore. The night was a terrifying thing, but it was also the only time you could see the stars.

Jim stopped in front of the door he was looking for. His throat was dry and scratching, pained. When was the last time he had taken a proper drink? It seemed like a stupid thing to think about, and maybe he was just stalling, but Jim couldn't help but wonder.

"Jim."

Jim froze, glancing around nervously. He could have sworn he had just heard...great. Now he was loosing his mind. Dehydration and fear and exhaustion mean he was loosing his mind and hearing voices. He supposed it was only fitting, though, that he'd hear the voice of the one person he wanted to be there to help him.

"_Jim_." It was a bit more urgent, a bit more annoyed.

Jim sighed. "Yeah Spock?" He was talking to his imagination. That's perfect.

"Jim do not stand in the open."

"Well," Jim protested. "I'm going through the door in a second, so it really isn't a problem."

Jim jolted when a hand landed on his shoulder and he peered up at Spock. Spock, who was giving him an incredulous eyebrow raise and was not dead on his floor. Jim briefly considered the possibility that he was now hallucinating too, but Spock's hand was incredibly real and he was definitely there.

"Hi Spock." Jim squeaked, reminding himself that screaming in elation was not a good plan at the moment.

"Jim." Spock repeated. "We should go."

"The kid...Chekov-"

"Is with Doctor McCoy."

"Who?"

"A member of Starfleet." Spock amended quickly, recalling that the doctor had beamed down after Jim was taken. "He is safe and likely back aboard his ship. We must leave this place. We may discuss what we will do after."

Jim shook his head. "No. It isn't going to work. The prime directive is shattered at this point. It'll do more harm, leaving it like this, than not. Besides, I promised your mother I would do something about it."

"You spoke to my mother?" A look of horror dawned in Spock's eyes. "She melded with you?"

Jim shook his head, wincing. "Um...no. It's a long story. One she will tell you eventually, but right now I need in there because I have a plan and I really, really, really want this to go right. I'm sort of hoping you'll help actually because I can't speak your language well enough to do what I need to."

Spock hesitated. Whatever Jim had planned was undoubtedly dangerous. Though his people were largely peaceful, they had stabbed him in the chest to retrieve an alien. As much as they were curious explorers, they were afraid. Whatever Jim did, he could tip them over into full blown panicked frenzy. Or he could create a peaceful resolution that ended in their worlds coming together.

"I will do what I can."

"See? This whole trusting me thing?" Jim grinned. "This is why you're my first officer."

… .. . .. …

McCoy froze, looking over the people gathered in the transporter room with some surprise. Pike gave him a long, grateful look before nodding to him. He scrambled to pick Chekov up and get him out of the way.

"What's going on?"

Sulu, who he hadn't realized was hanging around the door, beamed. "Only the coolest thing since ever."

… .. . .. …

In a competition of which worked better, Jim would have given it hands down to his phaser set on stun, but in a pinch, Spock's Vulcan nerve thingy worked wonders. Now, that was mostly because getting a shot off with his phaser proved to be almost impossible if he didn't want to risk damaging the computers, which he didn't. So Jim guarded the door as Spock took down both unsuspecting night employees.

Jim shoved an incapacitated man out of the chair, not really all that concerned with the man's discomfort because really... "So you guys have some kind of emergency network, right? Some sort of broadcast system that can reach all the radios and such I need?"

Spock gave him a very flat look as he considered what Jim was about to do. "Yes."

"Help me hack into it. I need this to be so powerful no one can stop me."

"I would not advise this course of action Jim."

"Course you wouldn't." Jim glanced the work surface over. "Do you have a room in this school, wired for broadcasts already? Like, maybe not to put on the emergency network, but I want the option to televise this. After all, it's sort of a historical moment."

Spock considered that briefly before nodding. "It is a relatively short distance form here. After you make your announcement, we may head there safely, if we move fast enough. I am unsure how my people will respond to this course of action though Jim."

Jim hummed. "We'll bring our own TV, just to see what they're doing. Now, I need you to say exactly what I tell you to. If you look or sound surprised for even a second, if you hesitate at all, then the whole thing could go wrong."

"I understand, Jim." Spock looked up from where he was doing what Jim had asked of him. "I will not question anything you require of me. Be aware that I will translate your words as diplomatically as I can, however."

Jim shrugged sheepishly. "Okay. There's one thing you have to say right for me...exactly as I say it."

"Yes?"

"No. You'll know it when you hear it." Jim grinned. "I kind of want it to be a surprise for you too."

Spock gave him a dubious look, indicating exactly what he thought of that, before reluctantly nodding "Very well Jim. We are connected. I need only push this button to engage the protocol and issue any message you require of me."

"Alright." Jim took a deep breath and smiled weakly. "Tell them that The United Federation of Planets is issuing an invitation to the political leaders of Vulcan to engage in first contact this morning. They will have three hours to organize themselves and get here, at which point we will begin broadcasting the proceedings to anyone who wishes to see them."

Spock considered his words closely for a moment before nodding. Jim pulled on a pair of headphones so he could hear the announcement as it was being interpreted by it's listeners, on ear free to listen to Spock directly. Spock pushed the button and waited as the signal made an announcement that an emergency broadcast was about to commence. The light on the board turned green, and Spock leaned forward ever so slightly.

Jim watched him, blue eyes serious as the foreign words spilled out of Spock's mouth. If he hadn't been at least partially familiar with the language, he would have thought he was speaking fast, perhaps nervous, but Spock said his lines perfectly. Spock hesitated and then, after a glance at Jim, set his mouth in a firm line.

"We will be waiting." He cut the line.

Jim knew why he did it, even though they couldn't have understood him. There was no way anyone could believe it was faked, given that sort of evidence. No one would be content if the Vulcan high council refused. There was no way they could pretend it was anything less than true first contact, no way they could sweep it under the rug after killing Jim and Spock. And that sort of safety made sure that they had something going in their favor.

Spock didn't hesitate any longer than it took to shut off the system, dragging Jim up by the arm and racing out of the room. Jim didn't complain knowing that, even if they couldn't sweep it under the rug, that didn't mean they wouldn't change the terms and conditions if they could.

Jim felt a little giddy. And who wouldn't? Just a few months ago he had run away from home. Now...now he was leading a first contact in an effort to save not just one planet, but possibly the entire federation. And if that sounded a bit dramatic, then maybe no one was capable of seeing the potential he did.

The room Spock brought him to looked like it had often been used to handle press conferences and announcements of a scientific type. That suited Jim just fine and, with Spock's help and a bit more artistic talent than he was used to drawing on, he had managed to make a relatively decent backdrop to meet people in front of. Jim was just glad he knew what the symbol of the federation was. That, presented at a slight transparency, placed over an image of the Vulcan forge, something Spock assured Jim would go across well, was now standing some twenty feet high on the back wall that doubled as a computer screen.

Jim sat down heavily on the stage, the lack of sleep and the lull of excitement finally catching up to him and making him weary. Spock moved to sit next to him, having ensured the doors were all locked so no one could enter before they were ready.

So far the news had been suspiciously silent about their announcement.

Jim leaned on his shoulder. "I'm really happy you aren't dead."

"And I you."

"I'll have you know that I never intended on doing this."

"Of course not Jim."

"And I was going to bring you with me, if that was what you wanted."

"I know Jim."

"Anywhere in the stars that you wanted. I owed you that at least."

"Jim. Rest."

Jim nodded. Within minutes he had fallen into a restless sleep. Spock suspected the only reason he did not join him in a light sleep was a combination of the 'rest' he had received earlier in preparation for a long night, and his own misgivings about their situation. He allowed himself to meditate, however.

Though he had agreed with Jim, and had known already of Jim's plans, it was something else entirely to hear him say them out loud. Jim had wanted to keep him at his side. _Anywhere in the stars that you wanted_. He had really meant that. It seemed, beyond just commanding utter devotion, Jim was willing to supply it in spades. Spock pitied anyone who had spurned the blue eyed man, because they would never understand, nor know the utter loyalty that Jim could hold for someone. More than anything, that was a sad fact.

Spock was sure, when he woke Jim with just a half-hour until their deadline, that it had not been enough rest for him. Jim made no complaint though, stretching and immediately setting up the final details. They were both grateful and apprehensive that no attempt was made to contact them early. Spock unlocked the door and turned the cameras on, so that it was recording, though not yet broadcasting, with just five minutes left.

At exactly three hours from their warning, the doors swung open. Jim and Spock stood upon the stage and Spock began the broadcast. Tall, older Vulcans walked into the room, slowly and without hesitation. Though all of their eyes came to fall squarely on Jim, no one spoke. Though Jim had no idea who they all were, Spock's stiff-backed assessment of them ensured him he was not dealing with some lowly scientists dressed up in formal robes. One woman, her hair mostly dark save for two pure white braids pulled back around her head stared up at Spock with clear disapproval in her eyes.

"You know her?" Jim whispered so softly that Spock could barely hear him.

"She is my grandmother." Spock returned just as softly.

Jim took a slightly deeper breath at that, feeling remotely guilty for dragging Spock into something this dramatic, but he knew that he was only doing what he had to. Spock, for all that the worst looks seemed to travel his way, looked no less sure of what they were doing then he had a few hours before. Not to say that he had been particularly assured of their decision, just entirely too accommodating.

Finally, when the people who were coming had settled into their places, Spock's grandmother stepped forward. Jim barely caught that her name was T'Pau in her somewhat hasty introduction, before she rattled something off in Vulcan.

"She wishes to know the meaning of this." Spock told him without looking away from her.

"We are here to as representatives of the United Federation, a group of planets throughout the universe working peacefully to explore and understand the universe." To his credit, Spock only hesitated at the start, before using the word we just as Jim had.

"What brings you here now?" Spock translated for his grandmother.

"Spock." Jim announced, and Spock glanced sideways at him, knowing full well that was not true. "We are here to congratulate him, and the entire Vulcan race, on achieving such a monumental step as interstellar travel."

"Jim-" Spock began to protest, before seeing the blazing blue eyes directed at him and translating faithfully.

Now murmurs broke out among the revelers. Jim stepped forward to draw their attention. "Spock, as the creator of such, is allowed an honorary membership in the Federation, if he so chooses it."

Spock stared at him, understanding now that this was what Jim had kept from him, why he would have taken him. He did not know when Jim had found his notes, but it was really no surprise given the nature of their interaction over the last few months. Jim had known. T'Pau asked him what the alien had said, and Spock turned sternly to the crowd, away from the all too proud blue eyes. For perhaps the first time, Jim heard a note of strength and assurance in his voice, defiant against his own people.

There was too much unrest, though. Either they didn't trust him, or they really weren't happy with what they were hearing. Jim was beginning to grow nervous.

"If the civilization here is willing to accept your achievement..." Jim started, but came to a halt when a familiar sensation caused the skin on his neck to prickle.

He turned to view the stage behind him. The blue light, perhaps was a bit too bright to properly be captured on the television, but it didn't really make a difference. Jim knew a rescue when he saw it. His rescuer just happened to stand festooned in all of his military honors, with a group of Starfleet personnel at his back, and a piece of paper sealed with the official Federation insignia.

Even Spock couldn't fully restrain his surprise at the sudden appearance of so many alien figures.

"Captain Pike!" Jim grinned up at the once familiar man. "It's been a while."

"It has." Pike agreed, before turning to Spock. "Congratulations, young man."

Spock thanked him, though he was clearly not sure why he was being congratulated, and greeted him with a Vulcan salute. "Should I introduce you, Captain?"

Pike nodded. "Yes. While Jim has handled this quite well, I will be taking over from here."

Jim willingly stepped aside and watched as Pike took control of the room with practiced ease. His words weren't much different than Jim's own, and a sense of smug satisfaction settled in his chest. He had taken a gamble, stepping forward on the Federation's behalf. Especially given that he wasn't acting just for the Federation, or really for the Federation at all. The meeting was surprisingly short, with Pike agreeing that they could meet again, on perhaps more agreeable terms and with more time to prepare.

Before they did anything else, Pike handed the document to Spock. "You're a citizen of the Federation, if you want it."

Spock glanced at the room full of interested Vulcans, and then at Jim, before returning his gaze to Pike. "I believe you will find I shall be a member of the Federation soon enough, whether I accept this now, or wait for my people."

Pike grinned. "Well, it's always there if you want it. Now...are you willing to come with us for a while?"

Jim scowled. "You mean you're beaming us up?"

"You don't get a choice Kirk." Pike chided. "But he does."

"I will stay with Jim."

"Alright then. Tell them goodbye for us, and we'll be underway."

Spock did just that, leaving a communicator with T'Pau so that she could contact them when her people were ready. Pike moved to the center of the stage, with the last of the crew to beam up and quickly arranged his hand in the manner he had seen Spock just do to say goodbye. The gesture was apparently well received.

A second later, Jim felt the tail-tell sensation of his atoms being ripped apart, mostly tingly in nature.

… .. . .. …

"I suppose I owe you thanks." Spock told Uhura over breakfast two days later.

Jim growled. "She still stole something from you."

"Don't talk with your mouth full." McCoy ordered, running another scan over Jim. "I wish you weren't such a pest, Kirk."

"You love me already, don't lie."

"Though it is true she took one of my notebooks, had she not done so, it is likely that Captain Pike would not have chosen to interfere when his crew intercepted our transmission. Also, it is unlikely that the Federation would have known how close I was to creating a warp drive." Spock regarded him for a moment before raising an eyebrow. "It was fortuitous that the captain interfered when he did, given your proclivity for confrontation."

Jim scowled, but he wasn't actually upset. When he found out from Pike that the Federation was backing him entirely, he had been ecstatic. He was even remotely pleased that he wasn't going to end up in jail for his actions. And, thanks to some fortuitous timing, Jim hadn't completely mangled the official first contact. T'Pau had contacted them, issuing a formal invitation of the Federation officials to talks. Though Spock had spent some time attempting to program Vulcan into the universal translator, it was horribly patchy, so he would probably end up the main attraction there. As it was, he just about had to be the guest of honor.

Some time, when Spock wasn't around so that his mother could still be the one to tell him, Jim explained Spock's situation to Pike. He hadn't been thrilled, but he understood what Jim was saying. He also mentioned that, given his mother was a citizen of the Federation already, Spock was as well. Jim had been more than a little bit of a shit about that, but Pike took it in stride. He promised that, as soon as he could find them, he would bring them aboard and allow Spock to have that conversation with his parents.

At the very least, they were going to be at the 'party'.

Jim nervously awaited _that_ whole confrontation.

… .. . .. …

Jim stared up at the sea-soaked blue skies of San Francisco. It had been three years, since that crazy adventure, and he was itching for another one. He could see a few Vulcans wandering around the campus, not students, exactly, but visitors all the same attempting to acclimate themselves to their new existence.

Sometimes he felt a bit like some outsider, thrust into an entirely new world and wandering around, looking at the alien sight before him. That was more due to his one time belief that he would never make it to Starfleet, but it was also in part because, as a certain doctor insisted, he was a drama king.

"Eyes forward, Jim." McCoy warned. "If you trip again I'm not mending your face."

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, Bones?" Jim grinned at the sour look he received. "Why did you decide to come to Starfleet full time?"

McCoy flushed vibrantly. "I'm just finishing my education. And...well, I probably won't stay for long. My fiancee doesn't like the idea of me being away from her for that long."

"Oh yeah? When is she due anyway?"

McCoy glowered at him. "Oh shut up."

"I don not believe his question was meant to offend, Doctor."

Jim spun around, immediately engulfing the tall Vulcan standing behind him in a hug. Spock was dressed in all black, for the first time, and Jim was ecstatic to find that he had passed his instructor's exam. McCoy congratulated him, then proceeded to grill him about how he intended to work full time in the science labs when he was going to be teaching. It hadn't taken long for them to develop a somewhat spiky relationship, though Jim infiltrated it just as easily.

"I will instruct full time, with the occasional exploration mission taking no more than six months. I will have ample time to prepare for these missions and will not be teaching a class while doing so."

Jim grinned. "I'm going straight up into space when I graduate. I figured I can work my way up through engineering faster than I could if I actually tried to teach."

"Probably." Spock and McCoy agreed with him.

"Just remember." Jim warned. "I'm going to be a captain soon enough and then you're both going to end up on my ship. And oh! Hey, did you hear that Uhura girl and Sulu want to join Starfleet? Isn't that awesome? They're almost old enough to enroll."

"Yes Jim, we know." McCoy sighed. "You've been telling us every two weeks. Once a week for Chekov, who will be starting _high school_ soon."

Jim shrugged. "I've got time. As long as I'm exploring the stars, I can wait."

"I highly doubt that." McCoy grumbled. "The day that boy graduates you're going to take over a ship and declare yourself captain."

They shared a laugh and Jim dragged them off to celebrate. Spock could easily picture that kind of reckless behavior from Jim, and knew that, if Jim ever had a reason to do such, he would probably end up saving the universe while he did. As they returned to Starfleet academy, Spock couldn't help but agree with Jim. He did enjoy the sunsets over the ocean. Almost as much as he enjoyed exploring the stars.

… .. . .. … … .. . .. … … .. . .. …

**So that's it. The end. I hope you liked it. I also hope it didn't seem too rushed. I think that writing the last parts was probably harder than any other scene in the entire fic. As you can see, they're all on their way now, and while I couldn't positively tell you if this universe has any interactions with Nero, I can assure you that Jim will eventually take over the Captaincy,far sooner than he probably should, for some reason or another and bring his crew together.**

**I chose not to include the delegation, because actual delegations are really boring. I also didn't include the confrontation with his parents, because somehow I just couldn't see it being anything spectacular. Spock might have been a bit upset, but somehow I only see him adding up the figures and accepting it gracefully. Eh. Oh well.**


End file.
